IC-NRLF 


IgHm| 
Bffimm 


5 


POEMS  AND  SONGS 


BY 


ANDREW   WANLESS. 


While  the  daisy  decks  the  lea, 
Scotia's  sangs  will  never  dee — 
Floating  down  time's  silent  river, 
Time  and   them   will  die  together. 


DETROIT,  MICH. 
PUBLISHED  BY  A.  WANLESS,  Ijj  JEFFERSON  AVENUE 

1872. 


I 

Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1872,  by 

ANDREW  WANLESS,  in  the  office  of' the  Librarian 

of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


Printed  by 

THE    DAlCY     POST    tOMPANY, 
Detroit,   Mici. 


9K3 


HE  primary  design  in  the  composition 
of  these  " Poems  and  Songs"  was  an 
endeavor  to  link  the  present  with  the 
past — to  recall  the  scenes  of  our  early 
years — to  bring  up,  in  imagination,  the  braw 
lads  and  the  bonnie  lasses  that  we  forgathered 
with  in  the  days  of  the  lang  syne,  and  attempt  to 
describe,  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic,  the  wimp- 
ling  burns,  the  gowany  braes,  the  bonnie  glens, 
the  broomy  dells,  and  the  heather-clad  mountains 
of  our  native  land :  the  land  where  Wallace  and 
Bruce  wielded  the  patriotic  sword,  and  where 
Ramsay,  Burns,  Scott,  Tannahill,  and  many  more 
sang  the  songs  of  love  and  liberty. 

The  secondary  object  was  to  lay  before  my 
countrymen  and  the  American  people  some  speci 
mens  of  the  Scottish  vernacular.  At  the  present 
time  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  a  number  of  poets 
are  in  the  habit  of  losing  themselves  in  the  clouds, 
and  instead  of  writing  to  be  understood,  one  would 
naturally  imagine  that  they  try  their  best  to  mys- 


081 


tify  and  befog  the  reader.  In  contradistinction  I 
have  attempted  to  keep  as  near  the  earth  as  pos 
sible,  and  endeavored  to  clothe  my  sentences  in 
plain  and  home-spun  attire.  Some  other  poetasters, 
from  their  lack  of  wit,  no  doubt,  have  attempted 
to  wring  out  bastard  and  weak  puerility  by  mang 
ling,  distorting  and  misspelling  the  English  lan 
guage.  These  authors  who  thus  pamper  and 
pander  to  the  vulgar  taste,  in  my  poor  opinion 
are  more  to  be  pitied  than  despised. 

No  one  that  is  conversant  with  the  Scottish 
language  can  deny  its  rich  beauty  and  its  adapta 
tion  for  lyric  and  descriptive  composition.  If  I 
have  failed  to  make  this  volume  readable,  the 
fault  can  not  be  attributed  to  the  language,  but 
on  the  other  hand  the  demerit  must  be  laid  at  the 
door  of  the  author. 

A  few  of  the  "  Poems  and  Songs  "  first  appeared 
in  the  Scottish  American  Journal,  Hamilton 
Times,  Sarnia  Observer,  and  the  Detroit  Daily 
Newspapers,  to  the  respective  editors  of  which  I 
return  thanks  for  courtesies  extended.  The  ma 
jority  of  the  pieces,  I  may  however  state,  appear 
in  this  collection  for  the  first  time. 


A 


TO  THE  MEMBERS 


<?  cnctirg  ami  Caledonian 


OF    THE 

UNITED  STATES  AND  CANADIAN  DOMINION 

THIS    VOLUME 

Is   MOST   RrepECTFULLY  DEDICATED 

BY    THE    AUTHOR. 


X A 


TABLE  OF  PONTENTS. 


J 

**g» 

J 

'<*« 

A  Kittlin'  Clatter.  

33 

Lammermoor 

I  rj. 

A   Pastoral 

45 

Little  Nellie 

J-T 

A  Pic-nic  Rant  

36 

Mary  

IJJ 

A  Precious  Jewel 

68 

Mv   I  ove    O^  Pomp  tn  Vfp 

A  Reformation     

129 

Nan  o'  I.ockermacus  

78 

A  Sabbath  Morning  in  Scot 

Our  Mither  Tongue 

g 

land     

23 

Scottish  Sangs      

39 

A  Scottish  Sangster         .... 

131 

That's  but  Nat'ral  

JO 

A   Weak   Man  and  a  Strong 

The  Courting  o'  the  Widow 

151 

Woman  

126 

The  Cow  ave  Chicago  

i44 

A    Word    to    the    Canadian 

The  Creelin'  

15 

Weevil  

74 

The  Maid  of  Wayne   

J6o 

Belle  Isle  aboon   Detroit    ... 

138 

The  Rose  of  Springwells.  .  .. 

159 

Caledonian   Games   on    Hog 

The  Scott  Centenary   ... 

65 

Island     

41 

The  Serond  Sight  

98 

Come,  Sweetheart,  Come   .. 

148 

The  Trysting  Nicht  

156 

Craigie  Castle     

133 

The  Wallace  Monument... 

58 

Detroit  is  the  Town  for  Me. 

140 

Tib's  Slighted  me  ye  ken  .  .  . 

IT4 

Ellen  Dear     . 

162 

To  A.  H.  Wingfield,  Esq... 

59 

Fclk    should    aye    be    equal 

To  Dad  Brichan,  Esq  

94 

Yokit           .      . 

52 

To  James  McKay,   Esq  

27 

Her    Heart    was    all     Mine 

To  James  Walker,  Esq     ... 

92 

Own  

137 

To  John  A.  R  race,  Esq  

1  06 

Her  Love  for  me  did  Wither 

147 

Too  Much  Liberty  

7' 

Hohenwindsor   

63 

Turning  the  Key  

19 

Home  Recollections   

ii 

War  and  Peace  

32- 

I  Lo'e  my  Alice  best  o'  a1.. 

158 

Who's  Comin' 

I  )O 

Jeanie  Bell    

141 

Who      Should      and      Who 

Jean  and  Donald  

116 

Shouldn't  

no 

Jineral  O'Nei'l  

142 

Willy    has    proved    False   to 

Lamentation    for    Mike   Mc- 

Me     .... 

1  5" 

Gill  .  . 

48 

16? 

POEMS. 

OUR    MITHER   TONGUE. 

Read  before  the  St.  Andrews  Society,  Detroit,  Nov.  10,  1870. 

'Tis  monie  a  day  since  first  we  left 

Auld  Scotland's  rugged  hills — 
Her  heath'ry  braes  and  gow'ny  glens, 

Her  bonnie  winding  rills. 
We  lo'ed  her  in  the  by-gane  time, 

When  life  and  hope  were  young, 
We  lo'e  her  still,  wi'  right  guid  will, 

And  glory  in  her  tongue  ! 

Can  we  forget  the  summer  days 

Whan  we  got  leave  frae  schule, 
How  we  gade  birrin'  down  the  braes 

To  daidle  in  the  pool  ? 
Or  to  the  glen  we'd  slip  awa 

Where  hazel  clusters  hung, 
And  wake  the  echoes  o'  the  hills — 

Wi'  our  auld  mither  tongue. 

Can  we  forget  the  lonesome  kirk 

Where  gloomy  ivies  creep  ? 
Can  we  forget  the  auld  kirk  yard 

Where  our  forefather's  sleep  ? 


10 


We'll  ne'er  forget  that  glorious  land, 
Where  Scott  and  Barns  sung— 

Their  sings  are  printed  on  o.ir- hearts 
In  our  auld  mither  tongue. 

Auld  Scotland  !  land  o'  mickle  fame  ! 

The  land  where  Wallace  trod, 
The  land  where  heartfelt  praise  ascends 

Up  to  the  throne  of  God  ! 
Land  where  the  Martyrs  sleep  in  peace, 

Where  infant  freedom  sprung, 
Where  Knox  in  tones  of  thunder  spoke 

In  our  auld  mither  tongue! 

Now  Scotland- dinna  ye  be  blate 

'Mang  nations  crousely  craw, 
Your  callants  are  nae  donnert  sumphs, 

Your  lasses  bang  them  a'. 
The  glisks  o'  heaven  will  never  fade, 

That  hope  around  us  flung — 
When  first  we  breath'd  the  tale  o'  love 

In  our  auld  mither  tongue  ! 

O  !  let  us  ne'er  forget  our  hame, 

Auld  Scotland's  hills  and  cairns, 
And  let  us  a'  where'er  we  be, 

Aye  strive  f;to  be  guid  bairns"! 
And  when  we  meet  wi'  want  or  age 

A-hirpling  owre  a  rung, 
We'll  tak'  their  part  and  cheer  their  heart 

Wi'  our  auld  mither  tongue. 


HOME   RECOLLECTIONS, 


Inscribed  to   D.   Bethune  Dufficld,   Esq. 


My  Muse  !    Come  flit  with  me  an  hour. 
To  govv'ny  braes  and  sylvan  dells ; 

Come  fancy,  dwell  in  Lammermoor — 
Amang  the  bonnie  heather-bells. 

Let  me  forget  the  weary  years, 

The  hardships  and  the  ills  that  grieve  me, 
Let  me  forget  the  bygone  tears, 

Since  I,  in  sorrow,  laith  did  leave  thee  ! 

Your  hills  in  lovely  grandeur  vie, 

Your  crystal  streamlets  rin  sae  clear, 

Still  let  me  trace  the  winding  Dye, 

And  muse  on  hame  and  Scotia  dear. 

With  eager  step  climb  Redpath  hill, 
With  rapture  scan  the  rural  shade, 

And  see  the  cot  beside  the  rill, 

Where  first  my  infant  footsteps  stray'd. 

I  see  our  house,  our  auld,  auld  hame, 
My  brothers,  sisters  and  the  lave, 
I  see  a  form  I  scarce  can  name, 

Who  now  lies  mould'ring1  in  the  grave. 


1  2 


The  falt'ring  tongue  of  woe  is  weak. 
To  tell  the  soul's  despairing  gloom, 

The  silent  tears  alone  can  speak — 

The  grief  that's  cradled  in  the  tomb. 

My  Mother  !   thou  wert  kind  to  me, 

Although  the  grave  did  early  get  thee, 

The  tear  still  rises  in  mine  e'e, 

My  Mother  !   I  will  ne'er  forget  thee  ! 

And  there  my  other  parent  lies, 

Set  free  from  care  and  carking  strife — 

An  honest  man,  sedate  and  wise, 
As  ever  drew  the  breath  of  life. 

There  stands  the  school — the  pathway  gate, 
Where  aft  my  truant  feet  did  climb — 

Lur'd  by  the  wand  of  luckless  fate, 
To  weave  unseen  the  rustic  rhyme. 

To  wander  by  the  murm'ring  stream, 
To  pull  the  roses  fresh  and  fair, 

And  learn  to  dream  life's  idle  dream, 
And  build  the  castle  in  the  air. 

Ah  me  !  upon  yon  grassy  glade, 

Where  high  the  clust'ring  rowans  hung, 
How  aft  I've  sat  beneath  the  shade, 

To  list  the  notes  the  blackbird  sung ! 

The  golden  cloud — the  sunny  beam — 
Have  melted  into  gloamin'  grey, 

My  playmates — lost  upon  life's  stream- 
E'en  like  a  wave  have  passed  away  ! 


Down  in  the  glen  the  churchyard  lies, 
The  hazel  bank  the  streamlet  laves, 

Yon  aged  willow  soughs  and  sighs, 
And  weeps  upon  the  lowly  graves. 

In  fancy  still  I  fondly  stray, 

And  tread  the  path  .my  fathers  trod, 
Where  thorns  and  briars  half  hide  the  way — 

That  leads  up  to  the  house  of  God. 

My  mem'ry  conjures  up  the  look — 
The  rev'rend  Pastor's  locks  so  grey, 

I  still  can  see  him  ope  the  book — 

And  hear  the  words :  "Come,  let  us  pray  !" 

A  stillness  reigns  in  every  aisle, 

A  gloomy  and  a  holy  calm — 
Devotion  hovers  round  the  while, 

And  wafts  to  heaven  the  sacred  Psalm. 

With  quiv'ring  lip  and  tearful  cheek, 
The  Pastor  speaks  of  God  and  love, 

Through  Christ,  the  lowly  and  the  meek — 
He  points  the  way  to  heaven  above. 

He  tells  of  earth  and  earthly  woe, 

Of  heaven  and  heaven's  eternal  day, 

Where  we  shall  God,  our  Father,  know — 
And  all  our  tears  be  washed  awav  ! 


The  young  and  old  attentive  sit, 

With  watchful  eye  and  list'ning  ear 

While  o'er  their  face  alternate  flit — 
A  heavenly  hope, — an  earthly  fear, 


The  vile  he  warns  to  think,  to  stop — 
The  path  to  heaven  is  still  the  best ; 

To  drooping  hearts  he  counsels  hope, 
To  weary  souls  he  speaks  of  rest. 

The  sunbeams  glimmer  through  the  trees, 
And  dance  above- the  solemn  throng, 

While  borne  upon  the  gentle  breeze 

To  heaven  ascends  the  heartfelt  song. 

O,  Scotland  !   may  the  God  of  life 

Forever  shower  his  blessings  on  thee  ! 

O  !  may  the  seeds  of  hate  and  strife, 
Be  never  sown  or  reaped  upon  thee  ! 

And  may  thy  sons  be  ever  found, 

An  honor  to  the  human  race, 
May  God  in  his  eternal  round 

From  thee  and  thine,  ne'er  hide  his  face  ! 

The  bard  nursed  in  the  lap  of  care, 

Oppressed  with  grief  and  tangled  fate  — 

His  fleeting  moments  cry  "prepare  !  " 

Time  never  shuts  the  church  yard  gate. 

O  !  may  we  never,  ne'er  forget 
The  lessons  of  our  early  years; 

Examples  that  our  parents  set, 

Their  admonitions  and  their  tears. 

And  when  death's  curtain  o'er  us  falls, 
May  heaven  dispel  the  clouds  of  night, 

O  !  may  we  hear  the  voice  that  calls : 

"Come,  welcome  to  the  realms  of  light." 


J 


HE       LREELIN'. 


[It  was  a  custom,  in  certain  districts  of  Scotland,  from 
time  immemorial,  to  "creel"  the  bridegroom,  i.  (.,  to  tie  a 
creel  upon  his  back,  and  to  fill  it  as  full  of  stones  as  the 
"  heapit  measure  "  would  allow,  and  then  to  march  the  young 
guidman,  amidst  roars  of  laughter,  before  the  doors  of  the 
clachan.  When  the  bridegroom  was  beginning  to  totter 
beneath  the  burden,  and  as  the  saying  is,  upon  his  last  legs, 
the  bride  would  rush  out  of  the  house,  and  with  a  gullie 
knife  cut  the  strings,  and  make  basket  and  stones  play  birr 
upon  the  ground.  This  part  of  the  business  was  usually  fol 
lowed  with  cheers  as  loud  as  the  lungs  of  the  on-lookers 
would  permit.  I  may  also  add,  that  no  marriage  was  con 
sidered  complete  till  the  custom  above  described  had  taken 
place.] 

Our  Andrew  was  a  canty  lad, 

As  dink  a  lad  as  e'er  ye  saw, 
But  now  he  is  baith  dowff  and  sad, 

Since  Lucy's  stown  his  heart  awa'. 

On  summer  nights  when  dargs  were  done, 
Upon  the  green  he'd  dance  wi'  glee, 

But  a'  the  lasses  he  wad  shun, 

Though  hard  they  tried  to  catch  his  e'e. 

But  Lucy,  she  cam'  ower  the  hill, 

And  Andrew's  heart  gaed  kempin'  sair, 
For  she  had  cheeks  sae  rosy  red, 

And  oh  !  sae  gowden  was  her  hair. 


i6 


Her  e'en  did  glint  sae  bonnie  blue, 
Her  neck  was  like  the  driven  snow, 

She  had  a  heart  baith  kind  and  true, 
As  pure  as  earth  can  ever  know. 

He  met  her  in  her  father's  ha', 

He  watched  the  glances  o'  her  e'e, 

And  aye  the  mair  o'  her  he  saw, 

The  mair  o'  her  he  wished  to  see. 

And  now  he  gangs  just  like  a  ghaist, 
'Mang  dowie  glens  he  aften  strays ; 

He  derns  on  the  moorland  waste. 

And  cries  on  death  to  end  his  days. 

His  coggie  clean  he  canna  scart, 
He  scunners  at  his  very  kail ; 

At  mirkest  hour  he'll  eerie  start, 

And  wake  the  echoes  wi'  his  wail. 

His  hair  he  never  kames  ava, 

It's  kink'd  and  matted  round  his  croon, 
Belyve,  he'll  tak'  his  pipe  and  blaw, 

And  gape  and  glower  up  at  the  moon. 

He  wears  nae  ribbon  at  his  knee, 

And  when  he  gangs  to  kirk  or  mill, 

He  looks  as  sad  as  sad  can  be, 
And  a'  for  love  o'  Lucy  Hill. 

But  Lucy  ken'd,  in  spite  o'  fate, 

That  Andrew  lo'ed  her  unco  weel, 

Now  they  are  wed,  though  unco  blate — 
She  frae  his  back  did  cut  the  creel. 


She  cut  the  strings  !  She  whang'd  them  through  ! 

And  on  the  ground  the  creel  play'd  birr, 
Then  auld  and  young  cried  "  Hip-harroo  !  " 

While  some  wi'  gigglin'  couldna  stir. 

Auld  Aunty  Kirsty  beck'd  and  laugh'd, 
Ye  might  hae  tied  her  wi'  a  strae, 

Jean  Tait,  poor  woman,  lap  like  daft, 

Syne  coup'd,  and  tumbled  down  the  brae  ! 

A  bonnie  lass  was  Jessie  Dunn, 

She  cuist  at  Jock  a  'tatie  peelin', 

Her  very  curls  danced  wi'  fun — 

As  she  cried  :  ''Jock,  when  is  your  creelin'?" 

Then  Jockie  cried  :    "  When  ye  consent  !  " 

To  kiss  his  Jessie  off  he  ran, 
But  like  a  deer  awa  she  went, 

Sayin':  "  Jockie,  catch  me,  if  ye  can." 

Now,  Lucy  led  her  Andrew  in, 

She  sneck'd  the  door  wi'  tentie  care, 

She  kissed  the  spat  aboon  his  chin, 

Guidsakes !  they  were  a  couthie  pair. 

And  thus  he  spoke  :  "  O  !  Lucy  dear, 
I'm  glad  that  creel  is  aff  my  back;" 

Then  Lucy  shed  a  thankfu'  tear, 

Syne  Andrew  gave  her  smack  for  smack. 

Harken,  ye  wives,  'tween  you  and  me, 
In  weel  waled  words  I  speak  ye  fair, 

Wi'  your  guidman  ne'er  disagree, 

But  strive  to  ease  his  load  o'  care  ! 


V  ,8 


Ne'er  thraw  the  mouth,  and  jeer  and  jaw, 

And  stamp  your  feet  an'  rair  an'  shore  him, 

That  is  the  daftest  plan  o'  a', 

Your  smiles  wad  soon  come  Paddy  o'er  him. 

And  you,  ye  lasses,  loud  I  pray, 

That  goodness  still  may  ever  guide  ye, 

Frae  good  advisement  never  stray, 

And  then  nae  ill  can  e'er  betide  ye. 

Auld  maids !   ye're  aiblins  blest  'bune  a', 
Your  man  will  never  catch  a  creelin', 
The  men,  ye  ken,  are  just  a  staw, 

They're  sae  devoid  o'  sense  and  feelin'. 

And  last  to  a'  the  human  race 

(I'm  strivin'  sair  to  end  this  letter), 

I  fondly  trust,  wi'  help  o'  grace, 

Instead  o'  worse,  we'll  aye  grow  better. 

How  happy  Andrew's  wi'  his  wife, 
She  lo'es  him  extraordinar'  weel, 

She  still  preserves  the  gully  knife, 

But  Andrew  burnt  the  muckle  creel ! 


TURNING   THE   KEY. 

The  Shearers  had  got  through  the  shearin', 
The  Autumn  to  an  end  was  wearin'; 
The  kye  that  browsed  'mang  moors  and  mosses, 
Gade  hame  to  sleep  in  byres  and  houses. 

The  sun  had  set,  the  stars  were  blinking, 
At  his  fire-side  Tarn  Swan  sat  winking, 
He  ga'e  a  gaunt,  and  then  quo'  he, 
"Jenny  !  Guidwife,  gae  turn  the  key, 
Right  off  to  bed  I  e'en  maun  creep, 
For  I  am  fairly  daised  wi'  sleep." 
Sae  cross  the  floor  auld  Tammie  shankit, 
And  soon  he  crawled  aneath  the  blankit ; 
The  Guidwife  scoured  baith  pat  and  pan, 
Syne  cuddled  in  wi'  her  Guidman  ! 

A  daughter  heaven  had  sent  this  pair — 
A  strapping  queen,  baith  fresh  and  fair, 
This  bonnie  lassie's  name  was  Nell — 
Her  sweetheart's  name  was  Willy  Bell; 
The  parents  left  Nell  in  the  nook, 
A-glowerin'  o'er  an  auld  sang  book; 
She  heard  her  minnie  lock  the  door — 
She  heard  her  father  gi'e  a  snore  ; 
Then  frae  her  seat  the  lassie  loupit, 
By  some  mischance  the  candle  coupit, 
She  banged  it  up  to  blaw  it  in, 

And  near-hand  burnt  her  bonnie  chin  ! 


20 


She  heard  the  garden-gate  play  jee, 
She  made  the  candle-doup  play  flee, 
Syne  slippit  affand  turned  the  key — 
Then  out  she  sprang  as  light's  a  filly, 
To  hae  a  courting  bout  wi'  Willy. 

How  heedlessly  the  moments  fly, 
When  lovers  heave  the  heartfelt  sigh — 
Thev  see  nae  bogles  creeping  by  ! 

Sleep  on  the  aged  couple  center'd, 
When  in  the  door  a  Kyloe  ventur'd, 
It  snuffed  awhile  about  the  entry, 
And  syne  it  edged  up  to  the  pantry, 
But,  finding  neither  corn  nor  clover, 
The  stupid  beast  began  to  dover, 
Then  down  it  crap  upon  the  floorin' 
Near  hand  where  Tammie  led  the  snorin', 
'Gainst  the  bed-post  it  gave  a  ristle, 
Which  soon  gar'd  Jenny  fyke  and  fistle — 
And  listen  wi'  a  tentie  ear, 
In  case  auld  Satan  should  appear. 
As  thus  she  lay  as  still's  a  lammie, 
Fast  by  the  side  o'  sleeping  Tammie; 
She  heard  a  kind  o'  unkent  breathin'  — 
Soon  terror  to  her  heart  was  cleavin'; 
She  dunches  Tarn — she  says,  "  Oh  waukin' 
Wi'  dread  my  very  heart  is  quakin', 
As  sure's  I  live,  I  hear  a  snivel 
As  if  it  cam'  fresh  frae  the  deevil  !  " 
Yet  Tammie  lay  devoid  o'  thought, 
Though  fear  nailed  Jenny  to  the  spot, 
At  length  he  muttered  "tuts,  lie  still, 

It's  naething  but  our  daughter  Nell, 


21 


Wha's  dished  wi'  sleep  and  breathing  sair, 
Or  aiblins  fashed  wi'  the  night-mare." 
He  gave  a  grunt  syne  round  did  creep, 
Auld  Tammie  soon  was  fast  asleep. 

When  winds  blaw  fair  upon  life's  ocean, 
Pride  in  our  hearts  aft  drowns  devotion, 
When  storms  arise  we  cry  to  heaven, 
And  pant  and  pray  to  be  forgiven  ! 
Now  Jenny  is  my  illustration  — 
Losh  !   how  she  groaned  on  this  occasion  ! 
Her  flaff'ring  pulse  at  times  stood  still, 
At  times  it  yerkit  like  a  mill, 
Fear  fastened  on  her  very  eye  — 
Her  every  pore  weep'd  agony!" 
There  is  a  limit  to  endurance, 
Her  inward  prayers  brought  no  assurance, 
She  drew  a  breath !      She  gave  a  bellow, 
That  woke  the  very  sleeping  Kyloe  ; 
Whiff!   Tammie  out  the  bed  played  whack 
And  got  a-stride  the  Kyloe's  back, 
He  sat  and  groaned  as  if  on  thorns, 
Syne  grappled  hard  a  pair  o'  horns ! 
The  Kyloe  sprang — dashed  to  the  door, 
The  brute  re-echoed  Tammie's  roar, 
Fear  at  ilk  hair  did  rive  and  rug, 
Despair  did  whistle  in  his  lug, 
Sic  dismal  dread  was  never  ken'd  — 
His  very  night-cap  stood  on  end, 
As  Tammie  held  by  horn  and  pow 
He  yelled — "  the  deevil's  got  me  now  !  " 
While  Jenny  in  her  bed  did  lie 
Preparing  for  eternity  ! 


22 


Out  through  the  yard  the  beastie  loupit, 
It  funked  and  plunged  and  Tammie  coupit ; 
As  Nell  and  Will  saw  something  comm  , 
Out  ower  the  dyke  they  baith  gade  bummin', 
Then  headlong  szoured  across  the  bent, 
Their  furious  shrieks  the  welkin  rent, 
For,  past  the  twa  the  brute  gade  drivin'- 
As  if  its  very  hide  was  rivin', 
Poor  Willy  sair  his  croon  did  claw, 
While  Nelly  fairly  swooned  awa  ! 
When  time  had  brought  them  to  their  senses, 
Hameward  they  gade  wi'  few  pretenses; 
They  keekit  ower  the  garden  wa', 
Hech  me  !  an  unc*>  sight  they  saw, 
There  Tammie  lay  besmeared  wi'  glaur, 
And  glbw'rin'  at  the  evening  star  ! 
Nellie  instinctive  raised  his  head, 
At  first,  she  thought  that  he  was  dead, 
Yet  though  his  bones  were  cloured  and  bloody, 
The  breath  had  not  gone  out  his  body; 
They  oxtered  him  into  the  hallan, 
Then  Jenny  frae  her  bed  cam'  squallin', 
Tarn  eyed  her  hard,  then  gave  a  groan, 
Syne  whispering  speered   "  if  Nick  was  gone  ?  " 

Next  morn  they  to  the  Priest  did  trot  - 
They  told  him  what  a  gliff  they'd  got ; 
The  Priest  in  meditation  sicker, 
Speered  "  if  the  brute  did  gie  a  nicker?" 
"Na,  na,"  quo'  Tarn,  "  it  gae  a  rout;" 
The  Priest  then  cried,  "  I've  foundjt  out — 
Your  diel  was  nothing  but  a  nowte." 

"  A  nowte  ?"  quo'  Tarn  "say  that  again," 


For  light  cam'  into  Tammie's  brain  ; 

"  Ye're  right  !  "  he  cried,  "'tween  me  and  you; 

It  must  hae  been  our  Kyloe-coo." 

When  Willy  spoke  a  word  to  Nell  : 

'"'I'll  take  the  blame,"  she  cried  "mysel' 

For,  whan  my  jo'  cam'  courtin'  me, 

I  e'en  forgot  to  turn  the  key." 

Quo'  Will,  "my  dear,  to  end  the  matter, 

The  sooner  that  we're  wed  the  better." 

Sweet  Nellie  blushed  and  syne  consented, 

Then  hame  they  a'  gade  weel  contented  ; 

And  aye  at  night,  'tween  you  and  me, 

Nell  ne'er  forgot  to  turn  the  key. 


A  SABBATH  M.ORNING  IN  SCOTLAND, 

Inscribed  to  the  Rev.  John  Jennings,  D.  ZX,  Toronto. 

The  morning  sun  glints  up  ayont  the  hill ; 
The  misty  clouds  of  morn  have  fled  away, 
Calm  is  the  pool,  the  sky  serene  and  still, 
The  lark,  exultant,  chants  his  early  lay, 
The  joyful  birds  sing  blythe  upon  the  sprey, 
The  wings  of  peace  are  spread  o'er  hill  and  lea, 
This  is  the  sacred,  holy  Sabbath  day, 
From  toil,  this  morn,  the  Husbandman  is  free, 
From  blissful  rest  he  wakes,  to  bow   to  God   the 
knee. 


24 

His  little  bairnies  start  up  one  by  one, 
They  early  learn  to  know  the  day  of  rest, 
Wee  Maggie  asks  if  frock  or  bonnet's  done? 
They  clamor  to  put  on  their  Sunday's  best  ; 
The  Guidwife  clasps  her  infant  to  her  breast, 
Warns  and  commands  the  noisy  to  behave ; 
Wee  Will  tries  on  his  new-made  breeks  and  vest, 
He  struts  about  the  wonder  o'  the  lave  : 
'Gainst  pride,  the  Guidman  speaks,  wi'  looks  de 
mure  and  grave. 

He  fondly  takes  his  Willy  by  the  hand, 
And  aff  they  gang  to  dander  round  aboot, 
To  see,  perhaps,  if  dyke  or  pailing  stand, 
Or  if  the  wheat  or  oats   begin  to  shoot; 
The  kye  frae  foggage  field  ha'e  broken  out, 
His  collie  dog  soon  answers  to  his  ca'; 
He  pulls  a  turnip  and  cuts  off  the  root, 
Wee  Willy  kens  the  way  to  wring  the  shaw, 
He  sits  and  glow'rs  and  eats  while  "  daddie  " 
mends  the  flaw. 

Adown  the  bank  they  ca'  the  sheep  and  kye 
To  where  the  burnie  laves  out  owre  the  rocks; 
Syne  hameward  'cross  the  bonnie  brig  o'  Dye, 
Where  weeping  willows  wave  their  silv'ry  locks, 
High  on  the  tree  the  raven  hoarsely  croaks, 
The  lintie  sings  among  the  heath'ry  braes ; 
The  herds  ha'e  turned  and  gathered  in  their 

flocks— 

Baith  hind  and  herd  respect  the  day  o'  days — 
From  lowly  shiel   and   cot  ascends  the  song  of 
praise. 


25 


At  hame,  our  Guidvvife  lights  the  kitchen  fire, 
And  soon  the  kettle's  hissing  on  the  grate, 
The  cow's  been  milked  and  turned  frae  the  byre, 
Now  milk  and  porridge  fill  baith  bowl  and  plate, 
The  chairs  are  set — the  bairns  wi*  look  sedate, 
Afore  the  porridge  cool  wad  fain  begin; 
The  grace  is  said — they  now  nae  langer  wait; 
The  Guidvvife  cries,  "  it  is  a  perfect  sin — 
To  see  the  milk  and  porridge  down  Will's  apron 
rin  !  " 

The  horn  spoons,  at  length,  aside  are  laid, 
Now  to  the  door  the  bairns  fain  wad  steal, 
To  gang  thereout  the  boldest  is  afraid — 
Their  questions  they  maun  learn  and  answer 

weal  : 

The  auld  kirk  bell  sets  up  a  solemn  peal, 
The  cry  is  heard,    "Auld  John  is  at  the  tow  !  " 
Around  the  house  wi'  bairns  at  her  heel — 
The  Guidwife's  wits  and  hands  are  eident  now, 
She  washes  rosy  face,  and  kames  the  curly  pow. 

Their  bonnie  Jessie,  unco  shy  and  blate, 
Comes  ben  the  house  dress'd  wi'  a  braw  new  goon 
The  Guidman  say£   "  'twad  e'en  tak'  an  estate, 
To  keep  ye  a'  in  meat  and  claes  and  shoon." 
The  Guidwife  cries  "come  hurry  ye'll  be  late  ! 
Sic  moping  bairns  I'm  sure  I  never  saw, 
See  !  there's  your  pennies  for  the  poor  folk's 

plate"- 

The  Book  o'  Books  she  hands  to  grit  and  sma'; 
Fain  is  her  heart  to  see  them  look  sae  weal  and 
braw. 


26 


Now  down  the  garden  walk  sweet  Jessie  goes — 
She  trips  sae  lightly  o'er  the  grassy  knoll, 
The  scented  spearmint  pulls  and  budding  rose, 
She  twines  them  baith  in  Willie's  button-hole. 
The  clinking  bell  at  last  has  ceased  to  toll, 
They  hurry  aff  and  gain  the  kirk-yard  road  : 
See  !    up  the  brae  yon  poor  auld  bodies  toil — 
Oppressed  wi'  age  and  care — a  weary  load — 
And  now,  baith  auld  and  young  have  reached  the 
house  of  God. 

Land  of  my  fathers — of  the  brave  and  free  ! 
Land  where  the  God  of  heaven  is  ador'd, 
Land    where    the   patriots    humbly    bow'd    the 

knee — 

Then  rose  to  wave  the  Standard  of  the  Lord  ! 
My  heart,  O  Scotland  !  from  its  inmost  chord. 
With  kindly  wishes  beats  for  thee  and  thine  ; 
O  !  may  thy  barns  with  plenty  aye  be  stor'd, 
And  freedom's  sun  forever  on  thee  shine — 
Still  may  your  "shield"  be  Christ,  your  "buck 
ler  "  God  divine  ! 


To   JAMES    M.cKAY,    Esc^,    DETROIT. 

Sarnia,    Ont.y  August   1 8,    1871. 

Sir— 

This  evening  at  the  gloamin'  grey, 
I  gat  your  letter  —  James  McKay, 
And  glad  was  I  to  hear  ye  say — 

And  proud  to  know  it, 
That  ye're  a'  in  the  ordinar'  way 

About  Detroit. 

Whan  next  that  ye  take  up  the  pen, 
There's  ae  thing  I  would  like  to  ken, 
If  ye  ha'e  won  that  bonnie  hen — 

That  lassie  braw, 
To  guide  the  but  and  grace  the  ben 

In  your  bit  ha'. 

I  mind  it  weel  —  'fore  I  was  wed, 
An  unco  weary  life  I  led, 
Groaning  and  girning  on  my  bed, 

Wi'  lonesome  moan  ; 
Sae  soon's  I  to  the  Altar  sped, 

WhifT!   Care  was  gone  ! 

Afore,  I'd  wander  'bout  the  braes, 
A'  nature  then  seemed  sour  as  slaes, 
Then  down  I'd  sit  as  in  a  maze, 

Aside  the  burn, 
And  on  the  winding  waters  gaze, 

And  sigh  and  mourn  !  , 


28 


I'd  watch  a'  nature  filled  wi'  glee — 
The  lammies  sporting  on  the  lea, 
The  birdies  whistling  on  the  tree, 

Their  tender  strain  ; 
I  didna  ken,  'tween  you  and  me, 

What  gar'd  me  grane  ! 

Ae  night  I  warstled  'mang  the  ferns, 
And  tossed  amang  the  whins  and  birns, 
And  tald  my  woes  e'en  to  the  sterns, 

Wi'  gruesome  croaks, 
That  scared  to  death  the  lang  leg'd  herons 

Amang  the  rocks ! 

I  growled  against  my  low  estate, 
I  envied  sair  the  rich  and  great, 
Till  Nature  cried  :  "  Man,  get  a  mate, 

And  a  bit  housie." 
Sae  faith  !   ae  night  I  up  the  gate, 

And  spak'  for  Lucy  ! 

Hope's  tender  bud  began  to  grow, 
The  light  o'  love  began  to  lowe, 
Losh,  Jemmy  !   if  ye  saw  me  now 

Midst  bliss  supreme  ! 
Stand  clear  !   five  bairns  I  ha'e  in  tow— 

Upon  life's  stream. 

I'm  getting  unco  auld  and  stifl^ 

And  glow'ring  ower  life's  dreary  cliff; 

'Twill  no  be  lang  or  I  play  whiff, 

And  close  my  e'en, 
And  sail  awa  in  death's  dark  skiff 

To  the  unseen. 


29 


Yet  still  I  needna  grunt  and  grane, 

I'm  no  just  in  the  warld  alane, 

I've  wife  and  bairns  to  ca'  my  ain  — 

And  when  I  dee 
Nae  stranger  cauld  wi'  heart  o'  stane 

Will  close  my  e'e  ! 

Now,  Jemmy  !  tak'  ye  tent,  my  man, 
And  try  the  matrimonial  plan  ; 
Remember  !  life  is  but  a  span  ; 

I  speak  ye  fair — 
Just  buckle  hard  and  fast  to  Nan 

For  evermair  ! 

Wi  a'  your  might  tak'  my  example, 

Upon  your  'whys'  and  'wherefores'  trample, 

Just  get  a  wife  and  raise  a  sample 

O'  young  McKay's; 
They'll  be,  nae  doubt,  a  comfort  ample 

In  your  auld  days. 

Remember  me,  then,  to  your  Nan, 
And  kind  regards  to  Bannerman, 
And  tell  the  Major  'bout  the  plan 

That  he  maun  mak'. 
Should  death  no  flash  in  my  bread-pan 

I'll  soon  be  back. 


3° 


BUT    NAT'RAL, 

Inscribed  to  Duncan  Campbell,   Esq.,  a  natural  born   Poet. 


"  Weel,  Jenny,"  said  the  Rev.  Walter  Dunlap  to  the 
bride,  "  do  ye  like  Jock  ?  "  "  Yes,  Sir  !  "  replied  Jenny,  "I 
like  Jock  rale  weel."  The  reverend  gentleman  smiled  in  a 
quiet  way,  and  then  said,  "  that's  but  nat'ral  Jenny,  ma 
woman." 


The  spring  had  brought  out  the  green  leaf  on 

the  trees, 
And  the  flow'rs  were  unfalding  their  sweets  to  the 

bees, 

When  Jock  says  to  Jenny,  "  come,  Jenny,  agree, 
And  just  say  the  bit  word  that  ye'll  marry  me  " 
She  held  down  her  head  like  a  lilly  sae  meek, 
And  the  blush  o'  the  rose  fled  away  frae  her  cheek, 
And  she  said  "gang  awa  !    Man  !  your  head's  in  a 

creel." 

She  didna  let  on  that  she  liked  him  rale  weel. 
Aye  !  she  liked  him  rale  weel, 
O  !  she  liked  him  rale  weel, 
But   she   didna   let   on    that  she    Jiked   him   rale 

weel. 


Now  Jock  says,    "  Oh,  Jenny,  for  a  twalmonth 

and  mair, 
\e  hae   kept  me  just  hanging  'tween  hope  and 

despair, 
But,  Oh  !   Jenny,   last  night  something  whisper'd 

to  me — 

That  I'd  better  lie  down  at  the  dyke  side  and  dee." 
To  keep  Jock  in  life,  she  gave  in  to  be  tied, 
And  soon  they  were  book'd,  and  three  times  they 

were  cried  ; 
Love  danced  in  Jock's  heart,  and  hope  joined  the 

reel ; 

He  was  sure  that  his  Jenny  did  like  him  rale  weel. 
Aye  !  she  liked  him  rale  weel, 
O  !  she  liked  him  rale  weel, 
But  she  never  let  on  that  she  liked  him  rale  weel. 

When   the  wedding  day  cam,'   to  the  manse  they 

did  stap, 

At  the  door  they  gat  welcome  frae  Mr.  Dunlap  ; 
Wha  chained  them  to  love's  matrimonial  stake. 
Syne  they  a'  took  a  dram  and  a  mouthfu'  o'  cake  ; 
Then   the    minister  said,   "Jock,  be  kind  to  your 

Jenny, 

Nae  langer  she's  tied  to  the  string  o'  her  Minnie; 
Noo,  Jenny,  will  ye  aye  be  couthie  and  leal  ?  " 
"Yes  Sir,"  simper'd  she,  "for  I  like  him  rale  weel." 

Aye  !  she  liked  him  rale  weel, 

O  !  she  liked  him  rale  weel  ; 
"That's  nat'ral,"  said  he,  "to  like  him  rale  weel." 


AND 

; 

When  the  Lion  of  England  rushed  north  from  his 

lair, 

The  welkin  re-echoed,  "touch  me  if  ye  dare  !  ' 
Then  shoulder  to  shoulder  Scots  sprang  to  the  fray    j 
Shouting  "Scotland  and  freedom  for  ever  and  aye." 

The  tyrant  may  tremble  !  the  claymores  will  clash,    ; 
And  the  eye  of  the  clansmen  with  vengeance  will 

flash— 

And  the  axe  of  Lochaber  its  thousands  will  slay  :    j 
Hark  !  harken,  the  war-cry  "St.  Andrew  for  aye  !" 

O'er  mountain  and  valley  the  wild  slogans  ring, 
Up  !    Rise!    draw  the  sword  for  our  Country  and 

King; 
Though  blood  dye  the  heather  from  Tweed  to 

the  Spey, 
The  thistle  shall  flourish — shall  flourish  for  aye  ! 

Rouse,  Scotland  !  Up  Scotsmen  !  come  ruin,  come 

wreck, 

No  tyrant  shall  ever  put  foot  on  our  neck  ; 
Blow  trumpet  !    Sound  pibroch  the  undying  lay — 
That  freedom    shall   reign   in    our   country    for 

aye  ! 


_33_ 

The  beacons  are  blazing  on  each  mountain   crest, 
Unquench'd  is  the  fire  in  each  patriot  breast; 
They  fight  and  they  conquer — God  is  their  stay — 
I    Caledonia,  their  country,  for  ever  and  aye  ! 

Be  it  ever  remember'd,  the  glory  and  fame 
;    Of  Wallace  and  Bruce,  gallant  Douglas  and 

Grasm, 
j    Of  our  fathers  who  fell,  but  who  never  gave  way — 

Their  glory  was  Scotland  and  freedom  for  aye  ! 

Now,  the   sword's   in   the   scabbard — unbuckled's 

the  shield, 

The  pen  is  the  victor  !   the  Union  is  sealed — 
Ye  winds  waft  the  peace-song  till  time  pass  away, 
And  God  guard  the  Thistle  of  Scotland  for  aye  ! 


A    KITTLIN     CLATTER, 

Inscribed  to  Wm.  Barclay,  Esq. 


Ye  wee  auld  fashion'd  glow'rin'  kittlin, 
As  sure's  I  live  at  mice  you're  ettlin'; 
Tuts !  in  the  neuk  ye  now  are  settlin' 

To  tak  a  nap, 
Ye  ha'e  win  through  wi'  your  bit  brattlin'- 

Ye're  sound's  a  tap. 


34 


Your  twa  bit  e'en  are  steekit  fast, 
Unmindfu'  o'  the  wintry  blast — 
Ye  care  na'  how  folk  fend  or  fast — 

Midst  weal  or  woe — 
A  sheep's  e'e  at  your  tail  ye  cast 

And  round  ye  go  ! 

Guid  guide  us  a'!  you're  nae-ways  lazy, 

I  ferlie  sair  ye  no  grow  dizzy  ; 

"  Get  out  my  road  ye  donnert  hussy," 

That's  Grannie's  growl — 
"  Ye're  aye  amang  my  feet  or  claes  aye — 

Ye  crawlin'  sowl." 

"I'll  send,"  quo'  she,  "I'll  send  for  Jock, 
He'll  clank  ye  in  an  auld  mouth  pock, 
He'll  mak  ye  birr  out  owre  the  rock 

Wi'  little  clatter 
Syne  ye  may  splarge  an'  blaw  an'  chock 

Amang  the  water." 

"Losh  !  Grannie,  let  the  brute  a-be, 
We'll  strive  wi'  the  bit  beast  to  'gree— 
There's  room  for  it,  and  you  and  me — 

Rin  !  Grannie,  rin — 
See  there  !  the  aumry  door's  a-jee; 

Great  grief!  it's  in." 

Poor  brute  !  ye  little  ken  what's  comin', 
Dowgs  soon  will  at  your  tail  be  bummin', 
And  trees  and  houses  ye'll  be  climbin' 

Wi'  fufFs  and  granes, 
And  bairns  will  at  ye  hard  be  slingin', 

Baith  sticks  and  stanes. 


35 

Now  !  there  ye  stand  and  croon  and  girn, 

Whiff!  ye  are  affayont  the  kirn, 

You're  out  !   you're  there,  baith  skin  and  birn  ; 

What's  that  i'  faith  ? 
Preserve  us  a' !  it's  Grannie's  pirn — 

As  sure  as  death  ! 

There  now  !  ye've  cleek'd  her  auld  mutch  string, 
Down  to  the  floor  the  mutch  ye  bring; 
Your  neck  will  get  an  unco  wring — 

She's  hirplin'  ben : 
I'll  save  ye  yet  ye  silly  thing — 

Afore  she  ken. 

Here  comes  my  wee  bit  Nellie  toddlin', 
An'  round  about  my  knee  she's  hodlin', 
She's  now  the  wee  bit  pussie  coddlin', 

In  her  bit  dadle  ; 
She'll  no  be  lang  the  beastie  saddlin', 

I'll  bet  a  bodle. 

Out  loups  the  cat  !  down  fa's  my  dautie  ! 
Get  out  my  sight  ye  nasty  catie, 
I'll  fell  ye  wi'  this  muckle   'tatie  ; 

Come  here  my  hinnie, 
Come  here,  we'll  ha'e  a  couthie  chatie, 

We'll  tell  your  Minnie. 

Come  to  my  hand  my  wee  bit  pussie, 
Ye  aiblins  soon  will  catch  a  mousie, 
An'  now,  sae  lang's  I  ha'e  a  housie 

Out  owre  my  head, 
Your  birses  in  a  plate  ye'll  souse  aye, 

'Mang  milk  an'  bread  ! 


Ye're  mair  contented  than  your  maister, 
Wha  still  maun  pingle,  darg,  and  pester  ; 
Although  Dame  Fortune  aft  he's  chas'd  her, 

Baith  e're  and  late, 
The  slippery  jade,  he's  ne'er  caress'd  her — 

E'en  to  this  date  ! 

Soon  I  maun  jouk  'neath  death's  dark  wave, 
Soon  wint'ry  blasts  will  owre  me  rave  ; 
Will  ye  come  mewin'  to  my  grave, 

My  wee  bit  pet  ? 
Or,  will  ye  just  be  like  the  lave, 

An'  soon  forget  ? 


p.     ^IC-j^IC    j^ 


ANT. 


The  day  is  set,  the  time  is  near, 
I  wish  the  hour  was  come, 

When  we'll  awa  to  groves  o'  green, 
To  hear  the  bagpipes  bum  ! 

Great  Cuddie  Headrigg's  to  be  there, 
In  Highland  kilt  sae  trig, 

And  Bailie  Jarvie's  swore  an  aith — 
That  "Cud"  will  catch  the  pig! 

We'll  ha'e  a  gladsome  time,  I  trow, 
We'll  dance  upon  the  green, 

And  Balderston  will  Mysie  kiss, 
And  tak'  her  hame  at  e'en. 


Big  Dandie  Dinmont's  to  be  there — 
I'll  bet  my  hinmost  croon 

That  he  will  sup  a  bowl  o'  brcsc, 
Wi'  an  auld  horn  spoon  ! 

And  when  he  scarts  the  bicker  clean, 
If  nothing  should  gang  wrang, 

Rob  Roy  will  sing  a  Highland  lilt, 
And  Wildfire  sing  a  sang. 

Dick  Moniplies  will  e'en  be  there, 
To  sup  and  crack  his  fill ; 

When  Mrs.  Glass  comes  round  about, 
She'll  rax  her  sneeshin  mill. 

And  Doustersxvivel's  sure  to  gang — 

Alang  wi  Mucklebackit ; 
And  Mucklewrath  will  dance  a  reel 

In  style  wi'  Tibby  Tackit. 

There's  Dominie  Samson,  honest  man. 

He'll  unco  sair  distress  us, 
For  he  intends  that  day  to  kiss-  - 

Meg  Dods  and  a'  the  lasses  ! 

Douce  Davie  Deans,  a  cannie  Scot, 
Wi'  Dumbiedikes  will  sup, 

Wi'  knife  and  fork  they'll  go  to  work, 
And  eat  a  haggis  up  ! 

Meg  Merrilies,  wi'  stick  in  hand, 

And  a  new  tartan  frock, 
Along  wi'  John  Duke  o'  Argyle, 

Will  wallop  in  a  pock  ! 


Bold  Piercie  Shafton's  bound  to  gang, 
Wi'  sark  starch'd  to  the  middle; 

And  if  McTurk  misguides  himsel', 
He'll  jag  him  wi'  a  needle  ! 

And  Ochiltree,  in  spite  o'  a', 
Will  mak'  the  echoes  ring; 

He'll  snap  his  fingers  and  will  dance 
The  glorious  Highland  fling  ! 

Monkbarns!  faith,  he's  sure  to  gang, 
And  if  folk  dinna  bore  him, 

•He'll  soon  put  mettle  in  his  heels 
And  gie  us  Tullochgorum  ! 

And  Jennie  Deans  will  e'en  be  there, 
Alang  wi'  Roland  Graeme, 

And  Callum  Beg  upon  that  day 
Can  never  stay  at  hame  ! 

Detroit  lasses  will  be  there — 
Our  lasses  bear  the  bell, 

And  ilka  lad  will  think  his  lass 
Is  just  perfection's  seP. 

We'll  hae  a  glorious  time,  I  trow, 
We'll  dance  upon  the  green, 

And  ilka  lad  will  kiss  his  lass, 
And  tak'  her  hame  at  e'en. 


39 


SCOTTISH    S 


COTTISH    PANGS. 


"  Guidman  !  losh,  I  wish  ye  were  through  wi'  your 

havers, 

About  your  auld  sangs  an'  yer  clashes  and  clavers, 
The  floor  is  to  scour  and  the  scones  are   to  bake, 
The  stove  is  to  brush  and  the  carpet  to  shake  ; 
An'  still  ye  will,  sit,  losh  !  just  hear  to  the  coo, 
An'  the  cacklin'  hens  and  the  famishin'  soo  ; 
A  man  sic  as  you,  I'm  sure  never  was  born  ; 
Hurry  out  !  or  the  brutes  will  be  dead  ere  the 

morn. 

"I've  your  trousers  to  mend  and  your  stockin's  to 

dern, 

An'  ten  hanks  o'  thread  to  row  up  on  a  pirn, 
The  woo  is  to  caird,  and  the  thrums  are  to  reel, 
I've  the  'taties  to  wash  and  the  ingans  to  peel, 
The  kinlin's  to  split,  and  the  wood's  to  be  saw'd, 
An'  water — sax  stoups, — frae  the  well  maun  be 

draw'd, 

The  claes  are  a'  dirty,  and  as  sure  as  ye're  born, 
The  washin'  I  canna  pit  aff  till  the  morn. 


4° 

"  Hech  me  !  can  ye  no  gang  an'  foother  the  coo, 

And  tak  out  some  meat  to  the  hens  and  the  soo  ; 

The  beds  are  to  male'  an'  the  dishes  to  wash, 

An'  still  'bout  yer  sangs  ye  will  claver  and  clash. 

Gif  ye  no  gang  awa,  and  look  to  the  horse, 

As  sure  as  I  live  I'll  get  out  a  divorce  ! 

Gang  awa  !  I'll  come  clank  ower  yer  head  wi'  the 

tangs, 
Gif  I    hear    ony    mair    'bout    your    ballads    and 

sangs." 
| 

:    "  Guid  wife  !  losh,  I  hear  ilka  word  that  ye  say, 
i    But  I  trow  ye  maun  try  to  excuse  me  the  day, 

Frae  Job  ye  maun  strive  a  bit  lesson  to  learn, 
|    For  I'm  aiFand  awa  to  hear  ANGUS  FAIRBAIRN." 
|    "  Guid  man,  will  ye  tak  me  r  losh  !   ma   head's  in 

a  creel, 
But   the  coo  and  the  soo  may  baith   roar  like   the 

diel, 

I'll  soon  kame  ma  hair  and  throw  on  ma  gown, 
Ma  shawl  and  ma  bonnet  wi'  lace  on  the  croon. 
Come,  now,  let's  awa  !  lock  the  door — tak  the 

keys"— 

And  afFthe  twa  gade  just  as  brisk  as  tvva  bees, 
And,  aye  they  did  say,  as  they  hurried  alang, 
"  There's  naething  sae  sweet  as  an  auld  Scottish 
sang." 


41 


CALEDONIAN  GAMES  ON  HOG  ISLAND, 


Inscribed  to   jf.    B.    Wilson,   Esq. 


For  the  better  understanding  cf  the  following  rhyme,  it 
is  thought  necessary  to  state  that  <%  Hog  Island  "  is  situated 
a  short  distance  up  the  river  from  Detroit  j  that  the  gentle 
men  named  are  respected  and  prominent  members  of  the 
Caledonian  Club  of  Detroit ;  and  that  they  went  to  the 
island  on  a  certain  day  for  the  purpose  of  making  necessary 
preparations  for  the  annual  games. 


There  was  Andrew  and  Johnnie  and  Willy, 

And  Davie — a  comical  dog — 
And  a  Jedburgh  chap  they  ca'  Robin, 
Sailed  awa'  to  the  Island  of  Hog. 
When  into  the  boat  they  were  sittin', 

Quo'  Davie,  "  Bob,  feather  yer  oar," 
;    Syne  they  dashed  and  they  splashed  up  the  river, 
To  the  tune  of  "  Lochaber  no  more." 
And  aye  they  gaed  plowin'  and  rowin' 
Hech  !  how  they  gaed  sweetin'  and  reekin', 

Awa'  to  the  Island  of  Hog  ! 
3  / 


Quo'  Johnnie  to  Willy,  "  Come,  Willy, 
Do  sing  us  the  f  Wee  Pickle  Tow/" 
"Just  sing  it  yerseP,"  answered  Willy, 

"  Or  I'll  gar  ye  play  bum  o'er  the  bow." 
Quo'  Robin,  "The  first  man  that  quarrels, 

Wi'  this  oar  I'll  play  crack  on  his  croon, 
Sae  steek  up  yer  lip,  neighbor  Willy, 

And  Johnnie,  ye  Kirk  Vetholm  loon." 
And  aye  they  gaed  jawin'  and  blawin', 
Losh !  how  they  gaed  barkin'  and  bitin' 
Awa'  to  the  Island  of  Hog  ! 

When  on  to  the  island  they  jumpit, 
The  boat  to  a  tree  they  did  tie, 
Quo'  Davie,  "  I'd  herrin'  for  supper, 

This  mornin'  I  feel  unco  dry." 
He  claw'd  at  his  head  like  a  harrow, 

Then  out  from  his  pouches  did  draw 
A  bottle  o'  Hielan'  Glendronach, 
And  a  mutchkin  o'  real  usqueba. 

And  syne  they  sat  girnin'  and  laughin', 
Gosh  !  how  they  sat  puffin'  and  smokin' 
Awa'  on  the  Island  of  Hog  ! 

And  when  they  a'  got  a  bit  toothfu', 

And  when  the  drink  got  to  their  wames, 
Quo'  Andrew,  "  Come,  freens,  let  us  dander, 

And  look  at  the  grun'  for  the  games." 
Then  awa  through  the  woods  they  gaed  laughin' 

And  when  they  got  up  to  the  place, 
Quo'  Robin  to  Willy,  "Come,  Willy, 

Losh,  man  !  I  will  try  ye  a  race." 


43 


And  soon  they  gaed  sprachlin'  and  rinnin', 
Wow  !  how  they  gaed  pechin'  an'  bleezin' 
Awa'  on  the  Island  of  Hog  ! 

"  I'll  race  ye  and  beat  ye,"  quo'  Willy, 

Then  awa'  o'er  the  green  they  did  loup, 
But  Willy  played  clank  on  his  stomach, 

And  Robin  fell  down  on  his  doup. 
Then  they  leugh  till  their  sides  were  near  burstin', 

Quo'  Robin,  "My  nose  I  hae  bled;" 

Quo'  Johnnie,  "Come,  Robin,  get  up,  man, 

Did  ye  think  ye  was  gaein  to  bed  r  " 

And  sair  they  gaed  whummlin'  and  tumblin' 
Bang  !  how  they  went  clitin1  and  scraughin' 
Awa'  on  the  Island  of  Hog  ! 

And  now  they  began  to  the  wrestlin', 

Sair,  hard  were  their  tussles  and  rugs, 
At  the  links  o'  the  neck  and  the  brisket, 

At  shoulder-blades,  haffits  and  lugs. 
How  teughly  they  stuck  to  the  business 

For  the  feck  o'  a  couple  o'  hours, 
Till  their  claes  just  in  ribbons  were  hangin' 
And  their  banes  were  a1  covered  wi'  clours. 
And  aye  they  gaed  gripin'  and  ripin', 
Haith  !  how  they  gaed  skitin'  and  slippin', 
Awa'  on  the  Island  of  Hog  ! 

By  this  they  were  a'  gettin'  roupit, 

Wi'  a  drappie  their  gizzards  did  slake, 

Then  Dave  round  his  head  swung  the  hammer — 
Wi'  a  bang  baith  gaed  clash  in  the  lake  ! 


Then  Andrew  began  to  the  puttin', 

Slick  !  the  stane  to  his  shouther  did  raise, 
But  it  slippit  somehow  frae  his  clutches, 
And  cam'  yerk  on  the  end  o'  his  taes  ! 

And  aye  they  gaed  dreepin'  and  creepin' 
Wow  !  how  they  gaed  dragglin'  and  lirnpin' 
Awa'  on  the  Island  of  Hog  ! 

And  syne  they  began  to  the  jumpin', 
Dave  lap  like  a  hen  aff  her  eggs; 
Then  Andrew  cried,  "Johnnie,  look  at  me," 

Gae  ae  spring  and  maist  broke  baith  his  legs. 
And  next  they  began  to  play  quoits, 

Jock's  quoit  gaed  clean  aff  the  track, 
It  gaed  up  in  the  air  like  a  feather, 

Then  cam'  down  upon  Jedburgh's  back. 
And  still  they  went  flingin'  and   ringin', 
My  !   how  they  gaed  backin'  and  whackin' 
Awa'  on  the  Island  of  Hog  ! 

On  receipt  o'  the  knock  Robin  loupit, 
Syne  roared  like  a  mad  parish  bull, 
"Haud  your  tongue,  man  ;    keep  still,  man,''  quo' 

Davie, 

"And  be  thankfu'  it's  no'  split  yer  skull." 
Quo'  Andrew,  "  I  think  we'll  be  gaein', 

Wi'  terror  my  very  heart's  filled  ; 
If  we  stay  ony  langer  I'm  fearin' 
Ilka  soul  o'  us  a'  will  be  killed." 

And  oh  !  they  stood  whingin'  and  gruin', 
Man  !  how  they  stood  glaikin'  and  glunchin' 
Awa'  on  the  Island  of  Hog  ! 


45 


' '  Losh  !  Andrew,   ye're  right,  man,"  quo'  Davie  ; 

"  My  very  heart's  blood's  on  the  shiver, 
For  somehow  I  canna  help  thinkin' 

We're  sure  to  be  drowned  in  the  river." 
Yet  ilka  ane  swore  to  the  ither, 

Afore  they  gaed  affto  their  names, 
That  they'd  try  hard  and  sair  to  do  better 
At  the  grand  Caledonian  Games. 

Then  home  they  cam'  thuddin'  and  scud- 
din', 

Hech  !  how  they  cam'  swearin'  and  tearin' 
Awa'  frae  the  Island  of  Hog  ! 


p.   PASTORAL 

On  the  occasion  of  JAJtfES  FOqSYTH,  Esq., 
leaving-  (Detroit,  and  read  at  the  (Presen 
tation  }£eeting  of  his  many  Friends, 
February  1st,  1871. 


ARCHY — "Come,    Willy  man,    come    in    and   sup 

some  drammack, 

And  tell  us  a'  the  news  aboot  Hamtramack, 
Has  your  guidwife  gat  hale  and  weel  and  canty? 
Does  still  the  ague  hing  aboot  your  Aunty  ? 
Has  Jean  Galbraith  gat  buckled  to  Tarn  Cleaver? 
I  hope  the  bairns  ha'e  no  the  scarlet  fever  ! 
Ye  look  sae  dowff,  sae  dowie  and  downcast, 
Ye  look  like  ane  that  hasna'  broke  his  fast, 
Ye  look  like  ane  dumfoundered  wi'  despair  ! 
Come  man,  sit  down  and  tell  us  a'  yercare." 


WILLY — "I  weel  I  wat,  I  do  feel  unco  vvae  ! 
A  lade  o'  grief  hangs  ovvre  me  night  and  day — 
The  smell  o'  parntch  fairly  maks  me  scunner, 
An'  the  guid  wife,  as  sure  as  death  I  shun  her  ; 
Whan  e'en  the  bairns  come  climbin'  on  my  knee, 
I  cry  'get  aff!  for  guid  sake,  let  me  be.' 
The  guidwifj  tries  her  best  to  ease  my  care — 
Nae  words  can  calm  the  bosom  o'  despair, 
Aside  the  fire  i  sit  and  sigh  and  grane, 
Though  weel  I  ken  my  grief  is  a'  in  vain. 
At  times  I  tak'  a  dander  doon  the  yard, 
For  the  bit  flowers  I've  now  lost  a'  regard ; 
Last  week  I  had  some  apple  shoots  to  graft — 
As  sure's  I  live  I  think  I'm  gaein  daft — 
I  took  the  shoots  and  midst  my  granes  and  grun-s, 
I  e'en  did  graft  them  on  some  auld  kail  runts  ! 
Where  bonnie  flowers  did   spring  the  weeds  now 

grow  ; 

I  see  the  weeds — I  stand  and  claw  my  pow  ; 
I  canna  use  the  spade  to  delve  or  dig — 
My  pruning  knife  ne'er  sneds  the  useless  twig ; 
The  watering  pan  beneath  the  willows  lie — 
The  flowers  hang  down  their  head  and   fade  and 

die  ; 

The  sangs  o'  birds  did  ance  my  bosom  cheer, 
Their  notes  now  fa'  in  discord  on  my  ear." 

ARCHY — "For  mercy's  sake  what's  wrang — ha'e 

ye  the  ague  ? 
Or  worse  than  that,  ha'e  ye  gat  the  lumbago  ?  " 

WILLY — "  O  !  Archy  man  !  I'm  unco  laith  to  say, 
Our  bosom  friend — our  Jamie's  gaun  away. 


47 


I    I've  kent  him  lang — he  aye  was  true  as  steel ; 
There's  nane  can  ken  the  bitter  grief  I  feel  ; 
There's  few  can  ken  how  ill  it  is  to  part 
Frae  him  we  love — the  brother  o'  our  heart." 


ARCHY — "Preserve  us  a'  !  is  Jamie  gaun  to  leave  ? 

There's  mair  than  you  wi'  bitter  grief  will  grieve. 

He  aye  was  kind — sae  gentle  and  sae  mild — 

An  honest  man — a  sage — at  heart  a  child, 

No  words  were  his  of  selfishness  or  cant; 

His  purse  was  open  to  his  friends  in  want; 

If  want  or  woe  his  fellow  mortal  griev'd, 

His  heart  responded  and  his  hand  reliev'd. 

In  learning,  we  maun  own  he  is  our  daddie, 

He's  just  a  kind  o'  walkin'  Cyclopaedia  ; 

He's  read  the  works  o'  Reid  and  famous  Locke, 

He  kens  the  law  frae  Lyttleton  and  Coke  ; 

Can    gie    ye   screeds    frae    Burns    and    Scott    and 

Brown, 

And  Rhymer  Tarn  wha  lived  in  Ercildown  ; 
He  glories  in  the  fame,  the  works,  and  style 
O1  that  great  thinker  they  ca'  Tam  Carlyle. 
I  weel  I  wat  his  life  has  no  been  idle  ! 
But  best  o'  a'  he  ne'er  forgot  his  Bible. 
O  !  doleful  hour  !  O  melancholy  day, 
We'll  hae  nae  joy  when  Jamie  gangs  away  !" 

WILLY — "  Where'er   he    gangs,    I'm    sure    I  wish 

him  weel, 

'Midst  a'  his  care,  he  was  a  canty  chiel'. 
'•    His  head  is  crammed  wi'  wisdom  and  wi'  lair, 

KHe  rose  victorious  o'er  the  word  'despair.'  Y 

yL     [_ 


48 

When  he's  awa,  where'er  his  lot  he  cast, 
I  fondly  trust  his  cares  will  a'  blaw  past. 
May  health  and  plenty  cheer  his  ain  fireside — 
His  wife  and  son,  his  comfort  and  his  pride, 
'Mang  men  o'  worth,  in    the    first   rank    we    class 

him — 
Where'er  he  bides,  may  God  forever  bless  him." 

ARCHY — "  Thae's  bonnie  words  I'm  sure,  ye  speak 

them  true. 

Will  ye  no  tak  a  dram  to  weet  your  mou  ? 
The  back  unto  the  burden  we  maun  bend, 


LAMENTATION    FOR    jVLiKE    PILL, 

A  CELEBRATED  PLAYER  ON  THE  UNION  PIPES. 
Respectfully  inscribed  to  the  Hon.  Wm.  Adair. 


Detroit  folks  are  drown'd  in  woe, 

Down  o'er  their  cheeks  the  salt  tears  flow, 

Death  e'en  has  dealt  an  unco  blow, 

And  frae  us  ta'en 
A  man  who  never  had  a  foe — 

Mike  Gill  is  gane  ! 


49 


We  kent  poor  Mike  for  monie  a  year — 
His  sterling  worth  demands  a  tear, 
Upon  this  earth  he  had  nae  peer — 

He  stood  alane, 
We  weel  may  wail  beside  the  bier 

O'  him  that's  gane  ! 

When  nights  got  lang,  and  folk  got  douce, 
When  Mike  cam'  in,  we  soon  got  crouse, 
Baith  glee  and  gladness  were  let  loose — 

We  were  sae  fain  ; 
But  grief  now  reigns  in  every  house 

Since  Mike  is  gane  ! 

The  auld  folk  liked  him  unco  weel, 
The  young  folk  followed  at  his  heel, 
The  lasses  aften  filled  his  creel 

Wi'  beef  and  bane  ; 
But  now  he's  gat  his  hinmost  meal — 

Alas  !  he's  gane  ! 

When  marching  'neath  the  Stars  and  Stripes, 
'Twas  grand  to  hear  him  blaw  the  pipes ; 
Now  printers,  sobbing,  set  the   types, 

Wi'  grief  and  pain; 
Het,  waesome  tears  the  Bard  now  wipes 

For  him  that's  gane  ! 

We  weel  may  sit  about  the  burn, 
And  in  dark  glens  and  valleys  mourn, 
And  ilka  kind  o'  comfort  scorn, 

Wi'  goustie  mane 
Alas!  alas!  he'll  ne'er  return — 

He's  ever  gane  ! 


His  pipes  ha'e  gien  their  lang,  last  hum, 
Again  we'll  never  hear  them  bum, 
They're  hanging  now  ayont  the  lum 

On  their  bit  chain  ; 
Their  breath  has  fled,  alas !   they're  dumb — 

Like  him  wha's  gane  ! 

For  guidsake  ne'er  let  Barclay  know, 
That  Mike  lies  cauld  and  stiff  below, 
Poor  man  !  he'll  ne'er  get  o'er  the  blow — 

He'll  break  life's  chain, 
Or,  chew  for  aye  the  cud  o'  woe 

For  him  that's  gane  ! 

When  Mike  play'd  up  an  Irish  reel, 

We  neither  minded  maut  or  meal, 

But  up,  and  down,  and  round,  we'd  wheel 

And  plunge  and  strain  ; 
Now  in  the  ranks  o'  grief  we  squeel 

Since  he  is  gane  ! 

When  Johnston  frae  toon  lots  would  part, 

He  aye  set  Mike  up  in  a  cart, 

'Twas  then  we  heard  the  minstrels  art 

And  canty  strain ; 
He'll  ne'er  blaw  mair  at  wake  or  mart — 

Alack  !    he's  gane. 

He  ne'er  was  known  to  hum  and  look 
And  glow'r  upon  a  music-book, 
But  just  sit  smiling  in  the  nook 

And  drink  a  drain  ; 
Ae  ringer  had  the  crotchet  crook 

On  him  that's  gane. 


When  he  was  cuffed  about  wi'  care, 
He  took  a  dram  and  whiles  took  mair; 
But  never  fell  frae  off  a  chair — 

Wi'  drunken  grane ; 
Now  frae  the  roots  we  rive  our  hair — 

Woe's  me  !  he's  gane. 

Ae  night  he  cam'  fu'  crouse  and  trig, 
To  play  us  up  a  blythesome  jig, 
But  oh  !  he  gat  an  unco  dig — 

It  soon  was  plain 
That  he  had  crossed  death's  dismal  brig — 

He's  gane  !   he's  gane  ! 

The  doctors  round  about  him  press'd, 
They  laid  their  ear  upon  his  chest, 
They  placed  their  fingers  on  his  wrist, 

And  jug'lar  vein  ; 
But  Mike  did  never  cock  his  crest, 

For  he  wras  gane  ! 

Down  where  the  weeping  willows  wave 
James  Sutherland  has  filled  Mike's  grave, 
And  at  his  feet  has  set  a  stave, 

At's  head  a  stane 
Which  tells  McGraw  and  a'  the  lave 

That  Mike  is  gane! 

We  trace  Mike's  faults  to  Adam's  fa' — 
Mike  had  some  faults,  but  they  were  sma'- 
His  virtues  overtopped   them  a', 

I  here  maintain, 
And  hope  the  UNION  PIPES  he'll  blaw, 

Where'er  he's  gane  ! 


j^OLK     SHOULD    AYE    BE    EC^UAL 

Inscribed  to    C.    Taylor,    Esq.,   Sarnia,    Ont. 


Auld  Scotland  !  loud  I  sing  your  praise, 
Your  honest  men  and  wives  sae  gawsie, 

May  they  aye  walk  in  wisdom's  ways, 
And  keep  the  cantle  o'  the  causey  ! 

May  peace  and  plenty  be  their  lot — 

Contented  wi'  guid  brose  and  parritch, 

And  still  on  Sundays  boil  the  pot 

And  ne'er  forget  their  single  carritch  ! 

Auld  Scotland  ye're  a  stalwart  chield  ! 

The  Southern  foe  could  never  whang  ye, 
Faith  !  set  ye  on  the  fighting  field, 

The  very  deevil  couldna  bang  ye  ! 

May  a'  your  bairns  be  aye  discreet, 

Ha'e  a  clean  sark  and  Sunday  jackit, 

Sair !  sair,  the  bard  wad  roar  and  greet 
Should  Scotia's  bairns  be  disrespekit  ! 

Her  bonnie  lasses  !  guid  keep  me, 

They've  led  me  monie  a  weary  brattle, 

Scouring  at  night  o'er  moor  and  lea, 

And  swarfmg  sair  the  out-door  cattle. 


Ae  back-end  night,  O  !  hech  how  me, 
I  gat  a  mair  than  ordinal  fright  ; 

The  crap  e'en  to  a  very  pea, 

Was  in  the  stack-yard  standing  tight. 

On  the  har'st-rig  I  shore  wi'  ane — 

Her  maiden  name  was  Nellie  Martin; 

Love,  feverish  love,  on  me  struck  in. 
And  Nell  and  I  began  the  courtin'. 

She  had  a  waist  sae  jimp  and  sma', 

And  when  she  smiled  she  looked  sae  bonnie, 
And  then  her  lips,  preserve  as  a' — 

They  were  as  sweet  as  heather  honey  ! 

How  grand  !  how  lovely  was  her  face, 
A  perfect  heaven  was  in  her  e'e  ! 

To  crown  her  charms  she  had  a  grace 

That  played  the  diel  wi'  mair  than  me  ! 

'Twas  aughteen  years,  no  ae  day  mair, 
Sin'  first  she  gave  her  infant  cry — 

She  cam'  just  at  the  Lammas  fair, 
As  Session  Records  testify. 

She  lived  sax  miles  out  owre  the  bent, 

At  a  bit  house  ayont  the  glen; 
Ae  night  I  couldna  stay  content, 

I  fain  wad  see  my  bonnie  hen  ! 

I  sleely  stole  aff  like  a  mouse, 

And  o'er  the  moor  I  soon  gade  scrivein' ; 
The  clouds  by  this  had  broken  loose — 

The  winds  blew  out  the  lights  o' heaven  ! 


scaur 


54 

I  gropit  o'er  the  auld  wood  brig, 

Got  through  the  birks  and  past  the  rashes ; 
Without  a'e  lee,  whan  at  Whinrig, 

Losh  !  I  began  to  ban  the  lasses ! 

The  lightnings  leaped  across  the  sky, 

I  lap  out  o'er  stone  dykes  and  fences; 

I  thought  I  heard  the  kelpies  cry— 

"That  gouk  has  surely  tint  his  senses." 

At  times  I  swat  wi'  downright  dread, 

And  ance  I  foundered  'mang  the  glaur  ; 

As  forth  I  gade  wi'  swirlin'  speed 
I  headlang  plunged  out  o'er  a 

Hech  me  !  thought  I,  I'm  done  for  noo, 
My  heart-strings  gae  an  unco  pull, 

Fear  jumpit  down  my  very  mou, 

Syne  struck  the  keybone  o'  my  skull ! 

I  hae  had  monie  an  unco  fright, 

But  a'  the  frights  that  e'er  1  got, 

Are  nothing  to  that  desperate  night, 
As  down  that  fearfa'  gulph  I  shot  ! 

Oh  !  Nellie,  in  my  hours  of  ease, 

I've  worshipped  e'en  your  very  locks, 

I  little  dreamed  through  space  I'd  bleeze, 
And  kill  myseP  'mang  stanes  and  rocks ! 

I  thought  on  Nellie's  lock  o'  hair, 

That  o'er  my  throbbing  bosom  hung, 

I  tried  to  roar,  but  in  the  air 

Fear  shut  the  hinges  o'  my  tongue  ! 


55 

As  down  and  down,  and  down  I  fell, 
A  pleasing  notion  filled  my  head, 

Wi*  my  last  breath  to  cry  on  Nell, 

Syne  close  my  eyes  amang  the  dead. 

An  unco  job  I  had  to  land, 

Mang  whins,  and  sheep,  and  muckle  stanes, 
Dumfounder'd  !    I  cam'  to  a  stand. 

That  jumbled  up  my  very  brains. 

That  night  I  could  not  see  my  Nell — 
For  broken  collar  banes  and  legs  ; 

At  length  I  gave  a  dismal  yell 

That  echoed  'mang  the  hills  and  craigs  ! 

The  coward  sheep  scoured  to  the  hills, 
The  foxes  to  their  holes  ran  rife, 

The  cattle  turned  up  their  tails 
And  fled  as  if  for  very  life  ! 

The  corbies  croaked  out  o'er  my  head, 
'  Nae  doubt  expecting  my  last  groan, 
And  other  brutes  famed  for  their  greed, 
Cam'  out  to  see  what  was  gaun  on. 

And  there  I  lay,  and  girned  and  grat, 
With  agony  my  thoughts  ran  wild, 

Aye  !  there  I  lay,  I  weel,  I  wat, 
As  helpless  as  a  little  child. 

Next  morn,  the  wind  had  blawn  its  warst, 

When  Tam-the-herd  cam'  to  me   hotchin, 

He  leugh  till  he  was  like  to  burst — 

Syne  speered  "gif  I  was  at  the  poachin'." 


"  Na  !  na  !  "  quo'  I,  "  Tarn  get  a  cart— 
For  ance  ye're  fairly  aft"  your  eggs ; 

I  doubt  I've  broken  Nellie's  heart, 
Forby  ma  collar  banes,  and  legs." 

Tarn  ran  to  get  a  horse  and  cart, 

I  thought  'mang  men  he  was  the  marrow 
A  clud  o'  grief  cam'  owre  my  heart, 

As  back  he  dash'd  wi'  a  wheelbarrow. 

He  trailed  me  in,  he  wheeled  and  wheePd, 
Ungratefu'  like  I  did  abhor  him  ; 

Though  Tarn  was  a  lang  winded  chield, 
For  ance  he  had  his  wark  afore  him. 

He  pushed  and  wheeled  and  better  wheel'd, 
At  ilka  jolt  my  banes  did  harrow, 

Twice  o'er  he  stagger'd— thrice  he  reel'd, 
And  sent  me  headlang  out  the  barrow  ! 

We  laired  and  founder'd  in  a  bog, 
And  oh  !  an  unco  job  had  Tam, 

He  swore  against  his  collie  dog, 

And  ance  he  prayed  and  sung  a  psalm. 

Wi'  sair  ado  he  gat  me  hame 

He  wheeled  me  up  to  the  bed-stok, 
Quo'  he,  "I  am  baith  tired  and  lame, 
"~  Wi'  hurling  you  since  four  o'clock  ! 

"  Gif  e'er  ye  gang  that  gate  again, 
May  I  be  whipit,  hanged  or  shot, 

By  day  or  night,  in  wind  or  rain, 
Ye'll  lie  for  rre  until  ye  rot." 


57 


Nine  weeks  I  lay  upon  my  bed, 

Death  like  a  herd  did  on  me  whistle  ; 

And  in  that  time  my  Nell  got  wed 

To  an  auld  sumph  ca'd  Patie  Russell. 

Ah  !  Nell,  ah  !  Nell,  ye  ne'er  can  ken, 
What  J  for  you  hae  had  to  sufler, 

But  worst  o'  a'  to  caickle  ben — 

Wi'  that  auld  groaning  girning  buffer. 

And  yet,  I  still  may  crously  era', 

That  I  fell  through  frae  Nellie's  chains ; 

She  drives  Pate's  head  against  the  wa', 
And  kicks  and  scarts  his  very  banes. 

Ae  day  she  coarsed  him  like  a  hare, 

She  ran  him  round  the  muckle  table, 

She  just  had  breath  and  naething  mair 
To  fell  him  wi'  the  'tatie  ladle  ! 

'Twas  a'  Pate's  blame,  the  donnert  fool, 
I  wadna  greet  though  he  was  chockit, 

I'm  sure  he  might  hae  learned  at  school- 
That  folk  should  aye  be  equal  yokit. 


THE   WALLACE   J^ONUMENT. 

Inscribed  to  James  Black,   Esq. 

Stand  ever  !  freedom's  monument, 

Where  freedom  had  its  birth, 
In  honor  of  the  bravest  knight 

That  ever  breathed  on  earth  ! 

In  memory  of  great  Wallace  Wight, 
Whose  daring,  dauntless  heart 

Did  never  crouch  to  foreign  foe, 
Or  Scotland's  cause  desert, 

When  cold  and  chill  was  freedom's  hand, 

And  faint  and  fainter  grew 
Her  fluttering  breath,  great  Wallace  rose, 

And  loud  her  trumpet  blew  1 

The  eagle  from  the  rocky  cliff 

Soared  proudly  to  the  sky  ; 
Watching  its  flight— "  Soldiers !"— he  cried, 

"  Freedom  can  never  die  !  " 

The  droukit  thistle  raised  its  head 

That  erst  hung  pensylie, 
As  if  it  knew  the  deathless  creed — 

"  Who  dares  to  meddle  me  ? " 


59 


The  Warrior  cried  "  on  to  the  front, 
On,  soldiers,  to  the  field, 

To  fight  for  God  and  liberty, 
To  die  but  never  yield  !  " 

Stand  ever  !  freedom's  monument, 
Where  freedom  had  its  birth, 

In  honor  of  the  bravest  knight 
That  ever  breath'd  on  earth. 


JO     p.,     ji.     ^"iNGFIELD, 

Author  of  the  beautiful  ballad,   "There's   Crape  on  the  Door." 


Wingfield,  I'm  glad  to  hear  ye  still 

Are  climbing  up  Parnassus  hill ; 

Losh,  man  !  the  words  ye  clink  wi'  skill — 

How  sweet  they  fa', 
Take  my  advice,  ne'er  quit  the  quill, 

But  screed  awa. 

Though  gowks  may  jeer,  and  gomerils  ban, 
Sing  up !  sing  blythe !  my  bonnie  man, 
And  do  the  best  that  e'er  ye  can — 

Ne'er  mind  their  say, 
Rejoice  !  that  genius  guides  your  han', 

And  tunes  the  lay. 


6o 


When  I  to  rhyming  did  begin, 
The  fient  a  hair  I'd  on  my  chin; 
And  when  I  show'd  my  critic  kin 

The  hame-spun  waft, 
They'd  cry,  "just  drown  him  in  the  lin, 

He's  clean  gane  daft." 

They'd  laugh  and  smirk  at  my  pretense, 
And  say  "the  rhyme  was  void  o'  sense, 
'Twas  wrong  in  grammer,  mood  and  tense — 

I  was  a  fool." 
They'd  cry,  "  your  harp  hang  on  a  fence, 

And  gang  to  schule." 

Wi'  ilka  word  they  had  some  fau't — 
That  line  was  stolen  from  Pope  or  Watt, 
That  sentence  was  frae  Thompson  gat, 

That  ane  frae  Hogg ; 
They'd  ca'  me  a  cat-witted  brat, 

And  thievish  rogue. 

I'd  bite  my  nails,  and  burn  and  blush, 

My  heart's  blood  through  my  veins  would  rush, 

I  couldna  stand  it — like  a  cush 

I  would  retreat, 
Syne,  down  ayont  a  dyke  or  bush, 

I'd  sit  and  greet. 

In  winter  when  the  curlew  flies, 
And  tempests  hurl  athwart  the  skies, 
I'd  listen  to  earth's  sounds  and  sighs, 

And  nature's  croon, 
O'er  earthly  clouds  my  soul  would  rise 

To  heaven  abune  ! 


6i 


When  floods  cam'  gushing  down  the  hill, 
And  swelling  wide  the  wee  bit  rill, 
As  sure  as  death — I  mind  it  still — 

In  some  lone  nook, 
I'd  stand  and  learn  poetic  skill 

Frae  nature's  book. 

A  snow-drop  on  its  bielded  bed 
Would  raise  its  modest  virgin  head, 
My  very  heart  to  it  was  wed 

With  nature's  chain, 
And  tears  o'  joy  would  o'er  it  shed, 

I  was  sae  fain  ! 

And  when  the  bonnie  spring  would  come, 
When  bees  around  the  flowers  would  bum, 
And  Unties  were  nae  langer  dumb 

The  woods  amang, 
'Twas  there  wi'  them  I  learned  to  hum 

My  wee  bit  sang. 

Beyond  the  birks  where  cowslips  grow, 
And  violets  spring  upon  the  knowe, 
The  Muses  decked  my  youthfu'  brow 

Wi'  roses  fair, 
And  bending  low  I  breathed  a  vow — 

Their  joys  to  share. 

Then  in  the  gladsome  summer  days 
I'd  wander  'mang  the  heath'ry  braes, 
And  hear  the  lark  sing  nature's  praise 

Far  up  the  sky  ; 
On  fancy's  wing  my  soul  would  gaze 

On  heaven  high ! 


62 


Nature  would  guide  my  careless  feet 
To  where  the  blackbirds  sang  sae  sweet; 
For  hours  my  heart  with  joy  would  beat 

To  list  their  lay, 
Unmindful  that  the  stars  did  greet 

The  gloamin'  grey. 

VVhe.i  darkness  wrapt  the  mountain's  head, 
And  gloom  o'er  glen  and  valley  spread, 
Then  o'er  me  came  an  eerie  dread — 

A  nameless  fear, 
A  soul-commingling  with  the  dead — 

A  heaven  near  ! 

Wingfield  !  my  summer  tide's  awa, 
My  autumn  leaf  begins  to  fa', 
And  vulture  death  begins  to  gnaw 

And  hover  near, 
Yet  still  I'll  rant  and  rhyme  for  a' 

Sae  lang's  I'm  here. 

I  hae  nae  wish  to  gather  gear, 
My  muse  is  a'  my  comfort  here, 
My  Pegasus  is  horse  and  mear, 

That  heaven  has  sent, 
And  while  the  beastie  I  can  steer, 

I'll  be  content. 

Though  grief  has  racked  you  to  the  core, 
Take  up  your  harp — sing  as  in  yore  ; 
Ye  still  hae  monie  joys  in  store — 

I  hope  and  pray 
That  crape  may  ne'er  hang  on  your  door 

For  monic  a  dav  ! 


63 


:OHENWINDSOR. 


Inscribed  to  James   Fraser,   Esq. 

In  Windsor  when  the  moon  was  high, 
When  every  throat  was  parched  and  dry, 
There  rose  to  heaven  a  fearful  cry — 
Of  wild  despair  and  agony. 

For  Windsor  saw  a  dreadful  sight, 
A  thunderbolt  at  dead  of  night 
Did  smash  the  Windsor  pump  outright, 
And  knocked  it  to  eternity. 

Then  rushed  the  matron  and  the  maid, 
Then  Fraser  drew  his  battle  blade, 
And  Bartlett  cried,  "  Go  find  a  spade 

And  dig  my  grave  immediately." 

Then  Cameron  raised  a  fearful  wail, 
That  shook  the  very  Sandwich  jail, 
When  Black  put  on  his  coat  of  mail 

To  fight  with  him  most  furiously ! 

The  combat  deepens !  blood  and  blows  ! 
The  claret  flies  from  every  nose, 
Far  redder  than  the  reddest  rose 

That  blooms  in  Dougall's . nursery  ! 


Few,  few  of  them  will  see  the  morn, 
Far  better  had  they  ne'er  been  born, 
The  scythe  of  death  reaps  them  like  corn, 
And  grinds  them  in  his  grainery  ! 

Weep,  sun,  in  your  triumphal  car, 
May  sackcloth  hang  from  every  star, 
May  earthquakes  rend  the  earth  ajar, 

And  mountains  leap  distractedly. 

The  streets  of  Windsor  reek  with  gore, 
The  pump,  alas  !  is  gone  before  ; 
Hang  dismal  crape  on  every  door — 
And  die  in  great  perplexity  ! 


THE   jScoTT    PENTENARY. 

Read  at  the  Banquet,  Russell  House,  Detroit,  Aug.  15,  1871. 


A  hundred  years  have  rolled  away, 
This  morn  brought  in  the  natal  day 
Of  one  whose  name  shall  live  for  aye. 

Beside  the  clear  and  winding  Forth 
Was  born  the  "  Wizard  of  the  North;" 
The  Muses  circled  round  his  bed, 
And  placed  their  mark  upon  his  head; 
And  nature  sang  a.  grand  refrain 
As  Genius  claimed  his  wond'rous  brain, 
For  every  bird  in  bush  or  brake, 
Beside  the  silv'ry  stream  or  lake, 
Sang  blythely  on  their  leafy  throne, 
In  honor  of  the  4f  Great  Unknown  !  " 

The  Thistle  raised  its  drooping  head  : 
The  lark  forsook  his  heather  bed, 
Shook  from  his  wing  the  dew  drop,  moist, 
And  on  the  golden  cloud  rejoic'd  ; 


66 


The  classic  Tweed  took  up  the  lay, 
The  Yarrow  sang  by  bank  and  brae, 
And  Ettrick  danc'd  upon  her  way. 
The  daisies  by  the  crystal  wells 
Smiled  sweetly  to  the  heather  bells ; 
And  rugged  craig  and  mountain  dun 
Exulted  he  was  Scotia's 


Time  sped,  and  from  that  brilliant  brain 

There  issued  many  a  martial  strain  ; 

He  sang  of  knight  and  baron  bold, 

Of  king  and  clown  in  days  of  old — 

Though  dead  and  gone,  and  passed  away — 

Forgotten  in  the  mould'ring  clay, — 

We  read,  we  trow,  his  magic  brain 

Brings  back  the  dead  to  life  again  ! 

He  sang  of  men  who  ne'er  would  yield, 

In  border  fray  or  battle  field. 

Yes  !  on  the  page  of  endless  fame 

He  wrote  of  many  a  deed  and  name  ; 

How  patriot  heroes  dared  to  die 

For  God,  for  right  and  liberty  ! 


We  see  the  beacon  on  the  hill, 
The  slumb'ring  earth  no  more  is  still, 
For  borne  upon  the  midnight  gale 
The  slogan's  heard  o'er  hill  and  dale, 
The  din  of  battle  and  the  cry 
That  echoed  through  the  vaulted  sky, 
As  warriors  fell,  and  rose  and  reel'd, 
And  died  on  Flodden's  fatal  field  ! 


The  minstrel  loved  auld  Scotland's  hills, 
Her  gow'ny  braes  and  wimpling  rills, 
He  loved  the  land  that  gave  him  birth— 
A  land  beloved  o'er  all  the  earth  ; 
There  stood  the  brave  in  weal  or  woe, 
Who  never  crouched  to  foreign  foe — 
Who  stood  in  battle  like  a  rock, 
And  snapped  in  twain  the  tyrant's  yoke1! 

O  !  Scotland,  thou  art  dear  to  me  ! 
Thou  land  of  song  and  chivalry  ! 
There  Scott  and  Burns,  and  many  more, 
Did  pencil  nature  to  the  core — 
There  Wallace  held  the  foe  in  scorn, 
And  Scotland  lives  in  Bannockburn  ! 
And  every  patriot,  far  or  near, 
In  foreign  land,  or  Scotia  dear, 
In  castle  proud,  or  lowly  cot, 
Reveres  the  name  of  WALTER  SCOTT  ! 


68 


f 


RECIOUS    JEWEL, 


Inscribed  to    W.    Wanltss,   Esq.,   Sar 


Woa,  Pegasus  !  stand  still,  ye  rip, 
Stand  still,  ye  supple  skitin'  sorra, 

Woa,  stand,  or  I  the  thread  tak'  up — 
The  very  first  thread  o1  my  story. 

A  lassie  lived  wast  at  Mayshiel, 

And  wow,  but  she  was  fair  and  friskie, 

I  here  confess,  I  lo'd  her  well, 

Though  she  play'd  me  an  unco  pliskie. 

We  had  been  bairnies  at  the  schule  ; 

Somehow  we  aye  crap  close  thegether  ; 
We  learned  our  lessons  on  ae  stool — 

Where  ane  was,  faith,  ye'd  find  the  other  ! 

Whan  schule  was  out,  we'd  rin  and  play, 
And  gowans  pu'  sae  blyth  and  cheerie  ; 

Wi'  lightsome  step,  I'd  climb  the  brae, 
And  cull  the  rowans  for  my  dearie. 

At  the  brae-lit,  she'd  stand  and  watch, 
Her  e'en  wad  glint  wi'  sweet  emotion, 

As  nuts  or  rowans  she  wad  catch, 

While  down  I'd  look  wi'  pure  devotion  ! 


69 


Twice  twenty  years  since  that  ha'e  gane  ; 

Though  to  the  verge  o'  life  I'm  tap'rin' 
Yet  still  I  see  her  smile  fu'  fain, 

And  kep  the  rowans  in  her  apron  ! 

I  yet  can  see  her  dimpled  cheek, 
Her  Bonnie  curls  waving  free, 

Aft  in  my  dreams  I  hear  her  speak, 
And  see  her  laugh  wi'  pawkie  glee  ! 

How  aft  we'd  sit  doon  i'  the  dell, 

And  twine  and  shape  the  rushes  green, 

My  rushy-cap,  I  needna  tell, 

Was  fashon'd  aye  for  bonnie  Jean. 

In  har'st,  we  laid  aside  our  book, 

And  'hint  the  shearers  we  wad  pingle, 

To  Jeanie,  in  ayont  the  stock, 

I'd  sleely  hand  my  wee  bit  single. 

I'd  tak'  her  hand  whan  nae  ane  saw, 
Then  she  wad  blush  an'  look  amiss ; 

Her  lips  I  durst  nae  pree  ava — 

The  very  thought  was  perfect  bliss ! 

We  lo'ed,  we  loved  wi'  love  divine — 
Nature  designed  us  for  ilk  other; 

I'm  sure  this  day  she  wad  be  mine, 
If  death  had  ca'd  away  her  mother. 

For  monie  a  year  I  courted  Jean, 
And  aft  she  vow'd  to  be  my  ain  ; 

The  waddin'-day  was  set  I  ween, 

When  faith,  her  love  began  to  wane. 


7° 


Ae  night  her  faither  look'd  sae  sour, 
Her  mother  skellied  wi'  a'e  e'e, 

And  syne  she  said  :  "Tarn,  ye  are  poor, 
Ye'd  better  let  our  Jean  a-be." 

Quo  I,  "  Guidwife,"  as  up  I  rose, 

"I  lo'e  yer  daughter  true  as  steel," 

But  faith,  she  turned  up  her  nose, 
And  faith,  I  turned  upon  my  heel. 

When  at  the  door  I  ga'e  a  keek, 

A  waesome  keek  out  o'er  my  shouther, 

I  saw  a  tear  on  Jeanie's  cheek, 

And  ower  my  cheek  there  ran  another. 

My  Jean  I  never  saw  nae  mair — 

She  slighted  me  for  lack  o'  siller; 
In  twa  short  weeks  I  do  declare, 

My  lass  gat  buckled  to  the  Miller. 

For  monie  a  weary  night  and  day 

I  groaned  and  yattered  'gainst  my  fate, 

But  now,  at  length,  I'm  glad  to  say, 
I'm  somewhat  better  at  this  date. 

Now  ilka  lad  tak'  my  advice — 

Whene'er  yer  lass  gets  out  o'  tune, 

Just  let  her  gang — though  e'er  sae  nice, 
Aye  strive  to  keep  yer  heart  abune. 

Be  like  the  man  that  had  a  kist, 

And  when  he  loosen'd  affthe  rope 

He  raised  the  lid — his  all  he  missed, 

But  found  the  precious  jewel — HOPE  ! 


\ 


Too    MUCH    LIBERTY. 


Inscribed  to  James  Anderson,  Esq. 


The  guidwife  ga'e  us  screed  on  screed, 
Syne  went  to  where  the  sea-maws  breed, 
Now  ilka  thing's  gane  heels  o'er  head  ; 
We'd  better  a    be  lying  dead, 

Afore  she  reaches  hame. 

The  sow  runs  squeelin'  round  the  yard, 
The  dog  has  e'en  lost  a'  regard  ; 
Our  Jean  sits  bletherin  wi'  the  Laird, 
And  geeks  at  his  lang  tousie  beard, 
Her  mither's  no  at  hame. 

Whene'er  the  maut  got  'bune  the  meal, 
The  sight  o'  her  wad  gar  us  squeel, 
Like  rattans  into  holes  we'd  steal, 
Guid  faith  !  we'd  sooner  face  the  de'il — 
Than  her  wa's  comin'  hame. 

There's  nane  now  scarts  the  parritch  pat, 
The  soot  has  got  among  the  saut, 
The  Laird  has  drank  up  a'  the  maut, 
The  Doctor  is  as  blind's  a  bat — 

The  guidwife's  no  at  hame. 


We'll  a  be  forced  to  join  the  total, 
The  cork  will  soon  be  in  the  bottle, 
The  press-key  placed  in  the  kist  shottle; 
We'll  hae  to  smoke  fear's  very  dottle — 

When  our  guidwife  comes  hame. 

The  soap  lies  sockin'  in  the  plate, 
We've  hounded  care  out  at  the  gate. 
We've  lost  the  very  day  and  date, 
We  tumble  headlang  aff  the  sate, 

When  our  guidwife's  frae  hame. 

At  night,  like  owls,  the  lasses  whup, 
Next  morn  ye  canna  rouse  them  up  ; 
The've  broken  ashet,  plate  and  cup, 
We'll  soon  ha'e  neither  bite  or  sup  ; 
At  times  we  wish  her  hame. 

Our  Jocks,  our  Peters  and  our  Wills, 
Just  a'  gang  roaring  round  like  bulls, 
And  kicking  chairs  out  o'er  the  stools, 
And  cracking  ane  another's  skulls — 

When  our  guidwife's  frae  hame. 

Wee  Tam  sits  glunching  in  the  nook, 
With  face  and  hands  as  black's  the  crook, 
He  glooms  e'en  at  the  Bible-book, 
And  on  his  lessons  winna  look — 

When  the  guidwife's  frae  hame. 

When  once  her  foot's  o'er  the  door  stane, 
A'  our  excuses  will  be  vain, 
Though  tears  come  dashing  down  like  rain, 
Her  antidote  will  find  the  bane — 

See  there  !  she's  coming  hame. 


73 


She's  hame,  and  she  has  felled  the  soo, 
She's  flung  the  dog  out  o'er  the  coo, 
She's  mauled  us  till  we're  black  and  blue — 
Transgression's  bitter  cud  we  chew 

Since  our  guidwife  cam'  hame. 

She's  bearded  discord  in  its  lair, 
The  Laird  and  Jean  kicked  down  the  stair, 
Now  Justice  sits  high  on  his  chair, 
And  Virtue  cries  to  Vice  "  beware  !  " 
Our  guidwife's  now  at  hame. 

MORAL. 

The  knave  'bout  liberty  may  shout,, 
The  fool  'bout  freedom  rave  and  rout, 
Miss  Liberty  is  grand  nae  doubt, 

When  well  we  use  her, 
But  then,  ye  ken,  the  perverse  n,owte: 

Do  aft  abuse  her  * 


74 


A.  WORP  TO  THE   CANADIAN  WEEVIL, 

Inscribed  to  R.  McKenssie,  Esq.,  Sarnia,  Ont. 


Ye  graceless  wheat-destroying  weevil, 
Rampageous  as  the  very  devil, 
Can  ony  tongue  be  to  you  civil ; 

By  day  or  night, 
On  waving  crops  ye  feast  and  revel, 

Afore  our  sight. 

A'  that  we  do,  a'  that  we  say — 

Though  sinners  swear  and  Christians  pray, 

Yet  still  ye  dinna  mind  a  strae, 

Ye  tak  your  meal ; 
Ye  just  gang  pouncing  on  your  prey 

And  fill  your  creel. 

Dame  Nature  is  a  jade  most  fickle, 
When  crops  look  as  they'd  take  the  sickle, 
Ye  hool  the  heart  o'  ilka  pickle, 

Just  in  a  night, 
And  leave  the  faners  but  a'  rickle — 

O'  chaff  to  dight. 


75 


Misquitos,  and  sic  like  sma'  fry, 
Their  ways  and  haunts  we  can  espy, 
Mair  mense  than  you,  though  unco  sly, 

We  can  them  smash, 
And  soon  make  them  at  death's  door  lie 

Wi'  little  fash. 

But  you,  ye  brutes  !  to  wisest  men 
Ye  are  a  thought  beyond  their  ken, 
Where  ye  come  frae,  the  how  and  when 

To  fill  your  kites, 
E'en  Hind  has  failed  a  had  to  len' 

To  set  to  rights. 

Ane  e'en  would  think  that  Dr.  Gill, 
Who  tugs  our  hearts  and  reins  wi'  skill, 
Would  'pound  a  posset  or  a  pill 

To  gar  them  scour, 
Like  Johnnie  Cope  frae  Birslie  hill, 

Within  the  hour. 

Stock  upon  stooks  sent  to  the  midden, 
Full  monie  a  heart  wi'  grief  ye  sadden, 
Ye  spoilt  Peg  Dale's  concocted  weddin' 

Wi'  Robbie  Rue, 
Wha  hadna  gear  to  buy  providin', 

And  a'  for  you. 

There's  Tammie  Turnip,  autumn  past, 
A  sheep's  e'e  at  Meg  Colwort  cast, 
But  you,  ye  souls,  cam'  like  a  blast 

Upon  his  grain  ; 
He  nailed  an  oath  to  the  bed-post, 

To  sleep  his  lane. 


A  gown  o'  silk  Kate  Kailrunt  wanted, 

She  thought  how  brawly  she  could  flaunt  it, 

She  asked  her  man  if  he  wad  grant  it — 

He  gave  a  roar, 
Then  heels  o'er  head  the  poor  man  canted 

And  ne'er  spak'  more. 

There's  our  auld  neighbor  Sandy  Bran, 
A  better  chield  life  ne'er  began, 
From  empty  barns  headlang  ran, 

Plung'd  through  a  swamp  ; 
Next  morn  was  found  cauld,  stiff  and  wan, 

Strung  on  a  stump. 

A  slee  auld  carle  was  Geordie  Jack, 
Ae  e'en  sax  cradlers  on  did  tak', 
Next  morn  he  wasna  worth  a  plack  ; 

Wi'  down  cast  main 
He  made  a  bullet  streight  play  whack, 

Out  through  his  brain  ! 

When  Tarn,  the  tailor,  'gan  to  shear, 

He  keeked  in  to  a  wheat's  ear, 

He  gaped  !  he  stagger'd  !  then  did  steer 

With  reckless  canter  ; 
Some  arsenic  grains  dashed  in  his  beer, 

Tarn  died  instanter  ! 

Such  cases  I  might  multiply, 

All  caused  by  that  infernal  fly, 

How  men,  in  scores,  leap  up  sky  high, 

Wi'  fear  and  fright, 
And  women  groan,  and  faint,  and  cry 

At  dead  o'  night. 
\  / 


77 


Ye  men  o'  state  !  be  up,  be  doin', 
The  cud  o'  strife  no  more  be  chewin', 
No  more  intrig'in'  plots  be  brewin'; 

Wi'  ae  accord 
Rise  up  !  and  save  us  a'  from  ruin 

By  fire  or  sword. 

Ye  cabinet  men  !  lay  heads  thegether, 
Bethink  no  more  your  nests  to  feather, 
Stop  for  a  space  your  dinsome  bleather, 

I  speak  ye  civil, 
Or  if  ye  roar,  roar  a'  thegether, 

And  scare  the  weevil  ! 

Let  John  McDonald  seek  them  out, 
Let  Sandfield  catch  them  by  the  snoot, 
And  a'  the  members  roar  and  shout 

Wi'  bellows  lungs, 
The  very  de'il  himself  you'd  rout, 

To  list  your  tongues  ! 

I'll  wager  my  auld  bonnet  blue, 
A  stot,  a  stirk,  and  forrow  coo, 
If  ye  just  raise  a'e  wild  halloo 

'Mang  the  wheat  crap, 
The  brutes  will  vanish  like  the  dew, 

And  ne'er  come  back  ! 


NAN    o1    LOCKERMACUS. 


Inscribed  to   Graham   Wihon,  Esq.,   Bay   City,  Mich. 


"  Visions  and  magic  spells  can  ye  despise, 
And  laugh  at  witches,  ghosts  and  prodigies  ?'* 

In  the  long  winter  evenings,  our  ingle-side  was  often 
visited  by  an  old  shepherd,  well  known  in  the  Lammer- 
moors  by  the  name  of  Auld  Tam  McCleish.  Although 
verging,  at  that  time,  upon  three  score  and  ten,  he  was  hale 
and  hearty.  He  was  a  steadfast  believer  in  the  supernatural, 
and  would  unfold  tales  about  bogies,  ghosts,  witches,  war 
locks,  fairies,  brownies,  water-wraiths,  kelpies  and  dead- 
raps  that  filled  us  with  such  fear  and  terror,  that  even  while 
we  listened,  we  were  afraid  to  look  over  our  shoulder,  and 
some  of  us,  rather  than  venture  out  in  the  darkness,  would 
have  preferred  to  be  lashed  within  an  inch  of  our  lives. 
Auld  Tam  always  carried  a  long  staff  with  an  iron  pike  in 
the  end  of  it,  for  the  purpose  of  protecting  himself  from  the 
attacks  of  the  "  Unco  folk."  He  also  carried  in  his  pouch 
a  kind  of  white  snuff,  which  he  called  "  witch  powder," 

and   if  any  of  the    cattle   in    the    neighborhood    got 


79 


bewitched,  he  would  blow,  with  a  quill,  some  of  the  powder 
into  their  eyes,  for  the  purpose  of  breaking  the  witch-spell. 
This  powder  he  would  also  administer  to  human  beings  as 
occasion  demanded.  In  the  morning,  if  a  hare  happened  to 
cross  his  path,  he  considered  it  unlucky,  and  would  imme. 
diately  return  home  and  remain  till  the  sun  went  down.  He 
had  a  strong  aversion  to  the  piet,  /.  <r.,  magpie  ;  the  following) 
regarding  that  bird,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  tepeating  with 
awful  solemnity  : 

"  Ane's  a  waddin\  twa's  a  birth, 

Three's  the  dead-thraw,  four  is  death." 

There  was  an  old  woman  in  the  village  called  "  Witch 
Nan,"  for  whom  he  also  had  a  strong  dislike.  According  to 
him,  no  one  would  dream  a  fearful  dream  or  see  a  vision 
without  Nan  being,  some  way  or  another,  at  the  bottom  of 
it.  If  sickness  came  among  the  cattle,  Tarn  was  always 
ready,  like  a  ministering  angel,  with  his  quill  and  powder  ; 
and  if  any  of  the  cattle  chanced  to  die,  he  would  with  frenzy 
exclaim,  "  May  the  deil  row  Nan  in  his  blankit  !  She's 
beat  me  this  time,  but  I  hope  I'll  live  lang  enough  to  see  day 
aboot  wi'  that  lim'  o'  Satan."  He  seemed  to  consider  that 
he  held  a  commission  to  baulk  Nan's  evil  machinations,  in  a 
word,  to  do  his  best  to  thwart  her  in  her  glamour-castings* 
spells  and  cantrips.  After  great  persecution,  Nan  somewhat 
mysteriously  left  that  part  of  the  country,  arid  Tarn 
McCleish's  occupation,  like  Othello's,  was  gone.  He  laid 
aside  his  staff,  his  quill  and  his  witch  powder,  and  drooped 
and  died. 

The  following  is  an  attempt  to  illustrate  some  of  the 
noti  :ns  that  once  prevailed  regarding  the  "  Unco  folk." 


8o 


Langsyne  upon  the  Millwud  brae, 
A  witch  ance  lived,  as  I've  heard  say, 
A  kind  o'  poor  decrepit  crater, 
The  very  picture  o'  ill-nater; 
A'  day  at  the  fireside  she'd  cour, 
A'  night  o'er  hill  and  dale  she'd  scour^ 
And  play  sic  cantrips  far  and  near, 
As  filled  baith  auld  and  young  wi'  fear  ; 
At  night  the  bairns  wad  spring  to  bed, 
And  jerk  the  blankets  o'er  their  head, 
Syne  trembling  baith  in  lith  and  limb, 
They'd   pray,    or   croon    their   wee    bit 

hymn  ; 

Sair  they  wad  strive  to  fa'  asleep 
Afore  auld  Nan  would  on  them  creep  ! 

A  couple  liv'd  south  at  Rawburn, 
For  snuff  and  tea  sair  they  did  girn  ; 
Ae  day  their  Bess  was  sent  to  Dunse, 
To  buy  the  tea  and  half  an  o'nce 
O'  snuff ;  whan  she  was  coming  back, 
The  shades  o'  night  did  her  o'ertak', 
She  had  win  down  the  Henly-hill, 
And  safely  gained  and  passed  Blacksmill, 
When  wind  began  to  blaw  and  rift, 
And  lightning  flash  across  the  lift ; 
The  thunder  bellowed  o'er  her  head, 
Bess  tore  alang  wi'  a'  her  speed ; 
Just  as  the  storm  began  to  lull, 
A  something  ga'e  her  skirt  a  pull  ! 
A  something  whispered  in  her  ear, 
That    made    her    shake    and    quake    wi' 
fear! 


Syne  like  a  dog  it  round  her  reel'd, 

And  bark'd  and  whinged,  and  roared  and 

squeel'd, 

Amang  her  feet  it  ga'e  a  wallop, 
Syne  affit  scour'd  wi'  fearfu1  gallop! 
Poor  Bessie  roar'd,  "Oh,  guid  keep  me  !  " 
Wi'  dread  she  drop'd  the  snuff  and  tea; 
Power  fairly  left  her  arm  and  hand, 
And  like  a  statue  she  did  stand  ; 
Then  took  leg-bail  wi'  a'  her  might — 
No  earthly  power  could  stop  her  flight ! 
As  she  gade  springing  o'er  a  mire. 
There  cam'  a  dazzling  flash  o'  fire, 
A  something  past  her  ga'e  a  rush, 
Then  dash'd  into  a  boortree  bush  ! 
Bess  closed  her  e'en  and  lap  the  ditches, 
To  get  scot  free  frae  Nannie's  clutches. 

When  she  gat  hame,  I  e'en  may  tell 
How  in  her  mother's  arms  she  fell, 
And  swoon'd  and  fainted  clean  awa, 
And  when  her  lungs  began  to  draw, 
At  intervals,  she  did  relate 
How  Nan,  the  witch,  had  crossed  her  gait ; 
Her  mother  cried.  *'  the  deil  tak'  me, 
Witch  Nan  has  got  my  pickle  tea  !  " 
E'en  Bessie's  father  took  the  huff, 
His  nose  and  mull  were  scant  o'  snuff; 
I'm  laith  to  say  he  swore  an  aith, 
And  thus  he  spak  below  his  breath, 
"  I  durstna  fell  Nan  wi'  this  poker, 
Yet   still,    I    pray,    the    snuff  will    choke 
her, 


There's  nane  in  a'  the  rounds  wad  care, 
Though  she  lay  stiff  for  ever  mair  !  " 
Then  they  did  brew  for  Bess  some  toddy, 
To  keep  the  spirit  in  her  body. 
For  weeks  poor  Bess  was  pale  and  wan, 
And  a'  the  blame  was  1 1  id  on  Nan. 

Now  Tarn  McCleish  cam  round  aboot, 
He  saw  poor  Bess  as  white's  a  cloot, 
Wi'  anxious  care  forthwith  did  try 
To  find  out  Bessie's  malady  ! 
He  heard  about  her  unco  freight, 
He  said,  "my  dear,  I'll  set  ye  right, 
I'll  break  Nan's  spell,  guidfaith  !  my  certy 
I  soon  will  mak'  ye  hale  and  hearty." 
Now  Tarn  did  mix  up  a  witch  pouther, 
Three  times  he  flang  some  o'er  her  shouther, 
Syne  charged  her  wee!  whan  night  did  fa', 
To  swallow  down  a  grain  or  twa  ; 
But  'fore  the  spell  wad  fair  be  broken, 
Twa  drachms  she  must  tie  in  her  stockin', 
And  after  she  had  ta'en  the  dose — 
To  sup  a  hearty  kit  o'  brose  ! 
Afore  he  left,  he  charged  them  sair 
To  send  him  word  how  Bess  did  fare, 
And  if  she  wasna'  gettin'  better, 
He'd  tak'  another  guid  look  at  her, 
And,  if  he  thought  there  was  occasion, 
He'd  gi'e  her  mair  examination  ! 
Tarn  took  his  stick,  bade  them  guid  day, 
And  never  stop'd  for  thanks  or  pay. 


83 

There  was  a  man  ca'd  Andrew  Luke, 

Wha  gade  to  Dunse  to  hire  a  cook  ; 

Whan  comin'  hame  a'e  Friday  night, 

Losh,  me  !  the  twasome  gat  a  fright  ! 

The  stars  abune  their  heads  were  peepin' 

As  they  alang  the  road  were  creepin'; 

(The  cook  was  just  a  kind  o'  trollop, 

They  gade  like  twa  snails  at  the  gallop, 

And  Andrew  didna'  care  a  snap 

To  what  extent  she  took  her  stap.) 

He  raised  his  voice,  and  thus  did  speak  : 

"My  lass,  whan  hame,  be  sure  to  steek 

And  fasten  weel  your  bedroom  door, 

Case  Nan,  the  witch,  should  you  devoor." 

Wi'  this  the  cook  did  quick  remark, 

"That  it  was  growing  fearfu'  dark  " 

"Ye're  right,"  quo'  he,  "the  deil  be  in  it, 

It's  got  pitch  dark  just  in  a  minit." 

Now  down  the  hill  runs  a  bit  burn, 

Just  where  the  fit-road  tak's  a  turn, 

A  gust  o'  wind  wi'  swirlin'  speed 

Did  nearly  knock  them  heels  owre  head  ! 

Their  very  hearts  lap  to  their  mouth, 

For,  whan  they  ventured  to  gang  south, 

A  brute  just  like  a  hoodie  craw 

Cam'  swatt'ring  in  atween  the  twa  ! 

It  had  a  neb  sax  inches  lang, 

And  frae  its  neb  there  shot  a  fang, 

It  had  twa  fiery  wull-cat  e'en, 

It  had  twa  legs  baith  lang  and  lean, 

And  aye  it  ga'e  the  ground  a  cla', 

Then  lap  and  danced  around  the  twa, 


84 

And  whiles  it  ga'e  a  curious  craik, 

That  gar'd  the  cook  and  Andrew  shake  ! 

The  cook  sent  forth  an  unco  roar, 

Then  cried,  "Oh  !  shut  my  bed-room  door." 

She  gave  a  spring,  then  affdid  birr, 

While  Andrew  no  a'e  fit  could  stir  ! 

It  just  was  striking  twa  o'clock, 
Whan  Andrew  at  his  door  did  knock, 
"  Wha's  at  the  door  ?  "  his  wife  did  cry ; 
"  I  think  it's  me,"  was  his  reply. 
Then  up  she  rose  to  let  him  in, 
He,  like  a  ghost,  did  past  her  spin, 
In  hole  and  corner  he  did  look, 
At  length  he  cried,  "where  is  the  cook, 
The  diel  a  bit  o'  me  can  see  her, 
Oh  !  what  on  earth  ha'e  ye  done  wi'  her  ?  " 
Quo'  she,  "  Guidman,  ye're  clean  gane  daft, 
The  fient  a  cook  cam  owre  the  craft." 
He  lifted  up  his  hands  on  high 
"  May  heaven  protect  us  !  "  he  did  cry, 
"As  sure  as  death,  we  may  depend, 
This  warld  is  coming  to  an  end, 
It  winna  do  just  now  to  swear, 
For  losh  !  our  ends  are  drawing  near  !  " 

Next  morn,  like  fire,  the  story  ran, 
How  that  infernal  witch,  ca'd  Nan, 
Had  turned  herseP  into  a  craw 
And  Andrew's  cook  had  witch'd  awa  ! 
Folk  sought  the  lass,  but  fient  a  hair 
O'  her  on  earth  was  e'er  seen  mair. 
Andrew  a'e  night  keek'd  through  Nan's  lossin, 
At  the  fire-side  he  saw  her  dosein', 


A  cat  was  sitting  on  her  back, 
It  purred  but  no  a  word  Nan  spak. 
He  tald  the  folk  what  there  he  saw, 
And  then  he  fainted  clean  awa, 
But  time  has  left  no  trace  or  track 
To  tell  if  Andrew's  wind  cam  back  i 

There  lived  out  owre  upon  the  common, 
A  kind  of  antiquated  woman; 
Whan  she  was  young,  she  had  got  married, 
But  death  her  guidman  arT  had  carried  ; 
And  now  she  kept  a  coo  or  twa 
An'  sold  the  milk  in  Randyraw, 
Now,  this  guidwifie's  nomenclater, 
I  e'en  may  tell — was  Peggy  Prater, 
She  sang  a'  day  like  a  canary, 
And  trig  and  clean  she  kept  her  dairy, 
She  hadna'  muckle  warld's  wealth, 
But  she  was  strong,  and  had  her  health. 

Ae  day  the  bairnies  in  the  Raw, 
Did  on  their  parntch  furl  and  blaw, 
And  some  o'  them  did  glunch  and  pout, 
As  Peggie's  milk  that  morn  ran  out. 
Next  morn  she  cam'  wi'  pitious  wail, 
And  tald  an  unco  waesome  tale  : 
"How  her  best  coo  had  turned  ill, 
And  wadna  gi'e  o'  milk,  a  gill." 
Quo  she,  "  I'm  unco  wae  to  think 
That  she  now  lies  upon  death's  brink, 
Though  I  did  gi'e  her  fellin'  grass 
To  help  her  through  wi'  her  distress; 
It  fills  my  heart  to  hear  her  groan, 
She's  lying  now  down  in  the  loan, 


86 


Her  hours  a  very  child  might  number, 

She'll  soon  fa'  into  her  last  slumber; 

I'm  seeking  now  for  Robie  Baumer, 

To  fell  her  wi'  his  muckle  hammer  ; 

It's  best  to  put  her  out  of  pain, 

For  she'll  ne'er  be  a  coo  again." 

Wi'  grief  poor  Peg  began  a-slotterin', 

And  afffor  Robie  she  gade  hotterin'; 

As  she  alang  the  doors  did  bellow, 

Loud  Tam  McCleish  did  to  her  hallow; 

He  kindly  speer'd  at  Mrs.  Frater, 

What  gard  her  tears  run  down  like  water  ? 

Then  she  did  tell  him  wi'  a  hurry, 

The  cause  o'  a'  her  grief  and  flurry; 

It  didna  tak'  a  lang  oration 

To  let  Tam  ken  her  hale  vexation. 

guo'  Tam,  "  It  will  be  a  bad  job, 

If  death  frae  you  that  coo  should  rob, 

She  has  a  bonnie  head  o'  horns, 

Their  ends  are  just  as  sharp  as  thorns; 

I  wat,  she  is  a  beast  well  made, 

Her  legs  are  sma',  her  brisket's  brade, 

Her  hide  is  just  as  saft  as  silk, 

And  what  a  jaw  she  gi'es  o'  milk, 

Her  skim  milk's  grand,  I  do  declare  it, 

The  mair  I'd  drink,  I'd  drink  the  mair  o't ! 

And  than  the  cream,  I  do  believe  it, 

Is  just  the  thickness  o'  a  diviot, 

Her  butter,  aye,  guidfaith,  indeed, 

Its  marrow  ne'er  was  spread  on  breed  !  " 

Tam  thought  awhile  and  then  did  say, 

"  We  e'en  will  dander  up  the  brae, 


I'll  tak'  a  look  at  her,  ma  fegs, 

And  try  to  set  her  on  her  legs, 

Another  tear  now  dinna  drop, 

Guidwife  !  as  lang's  there's  life,  there's  hope  !" 

"  Weel,"  quo'  the  wife,  "  yet  I'll  maintain, 

That  a'  our  efforts  will  be  vain, 

Man  !  Tarn,  if  ye  but  heard  her  blaw 

Ye'd  trow  she  was  in  the  dead-thraw." 

Tam  drew  his  hand  frae  out  his  pocket, 

His  bonnet  on  his  head  he  knockit, 

They  up  the  brae  did  meditate, 

Till  they  gat  through  the  plantin'  gate; 

Syne  afFthey  waded  through  the  clover, 

Fu'  kind  and  couthie  wi'  ilk  other; 

The  winds  were  blawing  saft  and  sweet, 

The  flowers  were  blooming  'mang  their  feet, 

Up  in  the  air  the  larks  were  springing, 

The  birdies  on  ilk  tree  were  singing, 

The  lambs  upon  the  nowes  were  dancing, 

Down  on  the  burn  the  sun  was  glancing; 

As  Tam  did  look  at  Mrs.  Prater, 

He  said,   "  how  grand's  the  works  o'  nater. " 

"Aye,  aye,"  quo  she,  "I'm  sure  I'd  feel 

Contented  if  ma  coo  was  weal, 

O'  care  and  grief  we'll  ha'e  our  load, 

Sae  lang  as  we're  abune  the  sod, 

And  though  my  coo  do  run  her  race, 

I'll  get  another  in  her  place  ; 

I'd  ance  a  hantle  mair  to  mourn, 

Whan  my  guidman  was  frae  me  torn, 

For,  whan  his  spirit  gade  abune, 

Nae  ane  on  earth  could  fill  his  shoon." 


Fu'  cosh  they  crack'd  for  half  a  mile, 

Until  they  reached  the  auld  dyke  stile  ; 

As  o'er  the  steps  they  singly  creepit, 

And  on  the  other  side  the)  drepit, 

They  saw  the  coo  lie  in  the  loanin', 

And  loud  and  lang  the  beast  was  groanin' ; 

Then  Tarn  gade  round  and  round  about  her, 

Quo'  he,  "I  unco  sair  misdoubt  her, 

I  maistly  think  'twill  be  in  vain 

To  raise  her  on  her  legs  again." 

And  then  he  cockit  up  his  eye, 

And  said,  "  we  might  do  worse  than  try." 

Down  in  the  ground  his  stick  he  stapit, 

He  placed  his  bannct  on  the  tap  o't, 

As  fu'  as  it  would  hold,  the  quill 

We  pouther  he  did  deftly  fill  ; 

To  the  guidwife  he  said  at  length, 

"Just  grip  her  tail  wi'  a'  yer  strength, 

And  in  a  minit  I  will  tell, 

If  I  ha'e  broken  Nannie's  spell." 

Peg  held  the  tail — at  the  cow's  head 
Tarn  louted  down  wi'  spraicklin'  speed, 
Whiff  in  her  e'en  the  pouther  blew, 
She  roared,  then  to  her  feet  she  flew, 
And  o'er  Tarn's  body  ga'e  a  spring, 
While  to  the  tail  the  wife  did  hing. 
Tarn  yelled,  "the  deil's  got  in  the  coo! 
Hech  me  !  I'm  fairly  done  for  noo  !  " 
He  thought  the  beast  wad  fair  devour  him, 
As  the  auld  wife  played  yerk  out  owre  him. 
At  length  Tarn  to  his  feet  did  whip, 
And  on  the  knowe  he  ga'e  a  skip, 


89 


"  That  coo,"  quo  he,  tf  will  soon  be  well, 
Losh,  me!  I've  broken  Nannie's  spell." 
Now,  Mrs.  Frater  cried,  "alack  ! 
YeVe  broke  the  spell  an'  broke  my  back  !  " 
But  Tam  ne'er  cared  a  word  she  said, 
He  took  his  stick  and  afThe  gade ; 
The  guidwife  rose,  she  heaved  a  sigh, 
She  saw  her  coo  wi'  tail  on  high. 
Thundering  alang  wi'  break-neck  speed, 
Tossing  and  shaking  horn  and  head  ! 
She  thought,  as  it  o'er  dykes  did  bleeze — 
The  cure  was  worse  than  the  disease  ! 


There  was  a  lad  ca'd  Jemmy  Deans, 
A  lad  possessed  o'  mense  and  means; 
A  horse  unto  a  cart  he  yockit, 
Then  placed  ten  shillings  in  his  pocket, 
And  aff  he  rode  at  mornin's  sun, 
To  buy  some  coals — say  half  a  ton. 
While  comin'  hame  on  the  auld  track, 
James  Deans  ahint  the  cart  did  walk; 
The  day  was  edging  down  to  night, 
The  sun  had  gane  clean  out  o'  sight, 
And  darkness  cam'  sedate  and  still 
And  settled  upon  Harden's-hill. 
When  comin'  past  the  Snuffy-holes, 
James  sprang  upon  the  cart  o'  coals, 
Put  forth  his  hand  the  reins  to  catch, 
But  fient  a  rein  was  there  to  snatch ; 
He  jumpit  down  and  aff"  did  stridle, 
And  caught  the  horse  fast  by  the  bridle, 
6 


9° 


To  stop  the  beast  he  roar'd,  <fwoa,  woa  !  " 

Yet  still  the  horse  wad  onward  go  ! 

He  looked  a-head,  what  he  saw  there 

Did  mak'  him  gaze  wi'  idiot  stare  ! 

He  saw  a  curious  looking  crater, 

Just  like  a  goat  in  shape  and  stature; 

Twa  horns  frae  out  its  skull  ascended, 

A  beard  far  past  its  knees  descended. 

Now  James  did  swarf  wi'  fear  and  fright, 

On  ilka  horn  he  saw  a  light 

That  bleezed  and  burned  bright  and  clear, 

And  sent  a  glimmer  tar  and  near! 

At  ilka  step  the  brute  wad  take, 

Its  shaggy  tail  did  toss  and  shake, 

It  held  the  reins  fast  wi'  its  teeth, 

And  pulled  as  if 'tween  life  and  death. 

Now  Jemmy  steevely  held  his  whip, 

He  sprang  and  ga'e  it  sic  a  clip, 

It  drop'd  the  reins  and  up  did  spurt, 

Backward  it  bleezed  o'er  horse  and  cart, 

It  bounded  twenty  feet  or  mair, 

It  turned  and  tumbled  in  the  air, 

From  mouth  and  nostril  forth  there  came 

A  red  sulphurious  blast  of  flame  ! 

James  stood  and  gazed  with  wild  surprise, 

Till  fear  did  shut  and  seal  his  eyes, 

And  when  he  opened  them  once  more, 

He  gave  a  wild  unearthly  roar — 

He  saw  the  brute  plunge  in  the  mire, 

And  vanish  in  a  flash  o'  fire  ! 

When  James  gat  home  he  did  report 
How  he  made  Satan  loup  and  snort, 


91 


But  folk  about  the  Randy-raw 

Did  better  ken  what  Jimmy  saw; 

They  shook  their  heads  with  sore  affliction, 

Their  thumbs  did  point  in  Nan's  direction  ! 

Twa  weeks  gade  by  wi'  cainie  speed, 
Nae  reek  cam'  out  Nan's  chimbly  head, 
By  day  or  night  the  ne'er  a  ane 
Had  seen  or  heard  her  mak'  a  din. 
At  last  they  ventured  to  her  biggin', 
They  dug  a  hole  clean  through  the  riggin', 
Back  to  the  earth  they  lap  wi'  fright, 
For,  Oh  !  they  saw  an  unco  sight ! 
They  saw  Nan  drawn  up  twa  fauld, 
And  lying  dead,  and  stiff  and  cauld. 
Next  day  they  bursted  in  her  door, 
They  stared  and  still  they  wondered  more, 
Nan's  cat  stood  there  wi'  glowerin'  e'en, 
But  ne'er  a  shred  o'  Nan  was  seen  ! 
Then  up  stood  ancient  Tam  McCleish, 
And  after  he  had  taVn  a  sneesh, 
He  said,    "  last  night  when  down  the  haugh, 
Overhead  I  heard  an  eldrich  laugh, 
I  gazed  right  up  and  there  I  saw 
Twa  witches  airtin'  for  Dunse  law  ! 
The  tane  had  on  a  b'ood  red  mantle, 
Wi1  flannel  toy  tied  on  her  cantle  ; 
The  other's  face  was  sour  and  crabbit, 
And  she  had  on  a  riding  habit  ; 
I'm  unco  sure  this  ane  was  Nannie — 
She  looked  sae  wud  and  sae  uncanny, 
And  as  1  stood  wi'  sair  afright, 
The  twasome  flaffered  out  o'  sight !  " 


92 


Then  a'  the  folk  did  cry,  "  guid  sake  us, 
Nan's  weel  awa  frae  Lockermacas  !  " 

Witch  Nan  is  gane  !  the  dominie  chuckles, 
He's  yerked  superstitions  knuckles^ 
He,  with  the  aid  o'  press  and  pu'pit, 
Has  Witch  and  Warlock  fairly  routit  !^ 
And  wisdom  cries,  "  their  loss  is  gain," 
To  which  the  Bard  writes  down — Amen. 


To    JAMES  WALKER,    psq^ 

SIR:  — 

Last  night  I  took  an  unco  turn, 
Death  nearly  caught  me  in  his  girn, 
Man !  I  did  think  my  earthly  pirn 

Had  run  its  course ; 

At  length  I'm  round  this  morning  stirrin', 
No  muckle  worse  ! 

By  spells  I  thought  it  was  the  ague, 

By  jerks  I  thought  it  the  lumbago, 

"  Het  Saut,"  I  cried,  "  frae  Onondaga, 

Rub  on  !  rub  on  ! 
Jee  !  fly  for  doctors  on  a  nagie 

Afore  I'm  gone  !  " 


93 


Sae  soon  as  I  wi'  speech  was  dune, 

A  whirling  I  took  in  my  croon  ; 

I  trow'd  my  breeks  and  my  auld  shoon 

Nae  mair  I'd  fill, 
I  bade  farewell  to  knife  and  spoon 

And  sneeshin'  mill. 

My  pores  at  length  began  a  rinnin' 
On  bowster,  blanket,  cod  and  linen, 
And  'fore  the  doctors  a'  cam'  spinnin' 

My  e'en  to  close, 
I  gather'd  strength  to  put  a  spoon  in 

And  sup  some  brose. 

And  then,  to  a'  I  did  rehearse — 
Sometimes  in  prose,  sometimes  in  verse — 
How  folks  that's  born  about  the  Merse 

Are  strong  and  hardy  ; 
So  friends !  ye  needna  yoke  the  hearse 

Yet,  for  the  Bardie  ! 

With  this  they  a'  with  laughter  fought ; 
The  guidwife  cried,  "losh,  I  forgot, 
To  tie  my  stocking  round  your  throat — 

There!  dearest,  rest." 
Her  thankful  tears  fell  burning  hot 

Upon  my  breast. 

Then  Hope  did  bark  and  worry  fear, 
Then  gentle  sleep  came  cantering  near, 
And  when  the  morning  sun  shone  clear 

I  ope'd  my  eyes, 
And  found,  that  I,  your  friend,  was  here, 

Below  the  skies  ! 


94 


Now,  Walker,  if  the  day  keep  fine, 
And  if  the  sun  no  cease  to  shine, 
Expect  me  at  your  house  to  dine, 

'Tween  sax  and  seven  ; 
Meanwhile,  I  am,  in  friendship  —  thine 

Sae  lang's  I'm  livin'. 


To   DAD   BRICHAN, 


Wha  cam'  to  Detroit,  and  wha  left  in  a  hurly  burly  } 
and  wha  gat  his  fiddle  broken,  and  then  to  mak  amends 
began  to  sing  ;  and  wha  scoured  the  country  far  an'  near  to 
get  the  sang  beginning  wi'  the  words  — 

u  My  name  is  Bauldy  Fraser,  man, 
I'm  puir,  an'  aijld,  an'  pale,  an'  wan, 
1  brak  my  shin,  an'  tint  a  ban' 

Upon  Culloden  lea,  man  !  " 

He  gat  the  sang,  and  if  his  wind-pipe  no  get  cracked  like  his 
fiddle,  he  will  sing  it  in  grand  style  to  his  many  friends  and 
admirers  at  Petrolia,  Ontario,  on  St.  Andrew's  day. 

My  honest,  bletherin',  canty  Dad, 
Gosh,  whan  ye  cam',  man,  I  was  glad, 
But,  like  a  March  hare,  I  was  mad 

Whan  I  did  hear 
That  ye  had  row'd  about  yer  plaid, 

And  aff  did  steer. 


95 


I'm  sure  ye  might  ha'e  stopt,  my  man, 
An'  shak'd  me  freedly  by  the  han'; 
Like  Will-the-wisp  awa  ye  ran 

Down  to  the  rail, 
Or,  like  a  dog  wi'  an  auld  pan 

Tied  to  his  tail. 

Though  I  consider  ye  did  wrang, 
Yet  still  I  send  ye  up  the  sang, 
And  hope  ye  will  be  in  the  fang 

To  scraugh  away, 
And  sing  it  weel  your  friends  amang, 

On  Andrew's  day. 

Now,  Dad,  I'm  unco  laith  to  say, 

Wi'  you  I  canna'  meet  that  day, 

To  hear  ye  sing,  and  screed  and  pray, 

An'  laugh  and  joke, 
As  I  maun  stap  to  ha'e  my  say, 

Wi'  our  ain  folk. 

But  whan  the  snaw  is  aff  the  grund, 
And  whan  the  spring  blaws  out  her  wind, 
I'll  wager  you  a'e  sterling  pund 

I'll  no  be  slack, 
To  tak'  a  cannie  dander  round 

Wi'  you  to  crack. 

I  hope  and  pray  that  ye'll  attend  it, 
And  get  your  guid  auld  fiddle  mendit, 
And  no  again  awa  to  lend  it 

To  some  fule  bairn, 
And  get  it  ance  mair  rack'd  and  rendit 

Frae  stem  to  stern. 


96 

An'  whan  I  come,  ye'll  yerk  the  strings, 
Sae  grand  ye'll  play  the  Highland  springs, 
Wi'  glee  we'll  mak'  the  very  tings 

Get  up  and  scour, 
And  jump  and  flee  as  if  they'd  wings, 

About  the  floor  ! 

As  sure's  I  breathe,  I  here  declare, 

Whan  ye  play  up  a  Scottish  air, 

The  first  note  cracks  the  croon  o'  care, 

The  second  line 
Just  maks  ma  twa  e'en  glint  an'  glare 

Wi'  joy  divine  ! 

I've  seen  whan  I  was  fairly  blockit, 
And  no  a'e  penny  in  my  pocket, 
To  buy  my  breakfast  or  my  nocket, 

And  friends  were  scanty, 
My  harp  !  losh,  man,  1  up  wad  tak'  it, 

And  soon  got  vauntie  ! 

I  didna  grumble  girn  and  clatter, 
And  hing  my  lugs  about  the  matter, 
But  wi'  the  Muses  aff  I'd  blatter, 

An'  loup  care's  hurdles ! 
And  left  the  jade  ahint,  dod  rat  her, 

Wi'  other  mortals. 

Now  fare  ye  weel,  my  fiddlin'  daddie, 
Gi'e  my  respects  to  your  guid  lady, 
I  hope  ye  row  her  in  yer  plaidie 

In  this  cauld  weather, 
An'  at  the  fireside  brew  the  toddy — 

Fu'  crouse  thegether. 


97 


I  hope  that  Buckham's  skill  and  washes 
Ha'e  gard  ye  smash  your  goggle  glasses, 
And  that  nae  mair  ye'll  tak'  out  passes 

And  ride  to  Flint, 
And  get  yer  e'en  row'd  up  wi'  messes 

O'  lard  and  lint. 

I  hope  ye'll  lang  enjoy  yer  smoke, 
And  in  your  chair  fu'  cheerie  rock, 
And  sing  a  sang,  and  crack  a  joke — 

My  Niff-naff  carle, 
An'  pu'  your  fiddle  out  the  pock 

And  gar  her  skirl. 

This  warld  is  whiles  a  perfect  staw, 
Care  comes  wi'  ilka  breath  we  draw, 
If  'twere  na  for  a  friend  or  twa — 

You're  ane  believe  it, — 
I  wadna  care  a  single  straw 

How  soon  I'd  leave  it. 

Now,  Dad,  I  trust  that  whan  we  die, 
We'll  ha'e  nae  trouble  in  the  sky, 
But  on  the  wings  o'  glory  fly, 

Wi'  a'  our  might, 
Where  we  will  neither  grieve  nor  sigh 

'Mang  realms  o'  light  ! 


98 


THE    SECOND    SIGHT, 


Inscribed  to   Hugh.   Moffat^    Esq.       l< A  Man  o'  the    Mene' 


Though  the  fairies  and  bogles  have  vanished,  yet  there 
remain  believers  in  what  is  termed  in  Scotland  the  "  second 
sight."  Those  who  possess  this  gift,  as  far  as  I  can 
understand,  somewhat  resemble  the  <:  Medium  "  of  the 
Spiritualists.  Though  the  author  is  no  believer  in  the 
supernatural,  yet  candor  compels  him  to  state  that  the  main 
incidents  in  the  tale,  as  told  by  "  Uncle  John,"  are  truth 
fully  related.  I  may  also  remark  that  the  spot  where  the 
ghost  of  the  gifted  student  appeared,  has  been  often  pointed 
out  to  the  writer  of  these  lines. 

The  wintry  winds  were  blawing  unco  sair, 
The  trees  stood  shivering  wi'  their  branches  bare, 
A  goustie  night  set  in — the  angry  blast 
Was  howling  fiercely  frae  the  east  to  wast. 
Auld  Uncle  John  was  sitting  on  the  bunk, 
Lunting  his  cutty  wi'  a  brimstone  spunk  ; 
The  fire  upon  the  hearth  was  bleezing  bright — 
A  couthie  comfort  in  a  cauldriff  night, 
A  stack  o'  peats  stood  up  ahint  the  byre, 
We  didna  fail  to  kittle  up  the  fire ; 


99 

Now   my    auld    grannie    round    the   house  was 

splutterin', 

And  to  hersel'  some  unkent  words  was  mutterin', 
And  as  the  blast  wi'  vengeance  sair  was  leathering 
She  e'en  sat  down  and  thus  begsn  a-bletherin': — 
"'Twas  just  a  night  like  this,  whan  in  my  youth, 
I  then  was  living  wast  at  Horseupcleugh, 
The   snaw,   knee    deep,    baith    hill   and    dale  did 

cover, 

The  mountains  seemed  to  groan  to  ane  another, 
The  ice  had  spang'd  and  frozen  pool  and  burn, 
And  a'  the  yird  was  just  as  hard  as  aim, 
The  icicles  in  ranks,  in  fronts  and  rears, 
Hung  down  like  daggers,  swords,  and  pointed 

spears, 
The  wind  in  blasts  gade  whistling  through  the 

lane, 
And  hailstanes  clatter'd   'gainst  the  window 

pane, 

As  sure  as  death  at  times  we  swarPd  wi'  fright 
I  weel  I  wat,  it  was  a  judgment  night  ! 

"My  neighbor  lass  was  bonnie  Betty  Broon, 
As  nice  a  lass  as  ever  step'd  in  shoon  ! 
Her  e'en  was  just  a  shade  'tween  black  and  blue, 
Red  was  her  cheeks,  like  cherries  was  her  mou'; 
I  eke  may  say,  at  mornin'  or  at  e'en, 
Out  doors  or  in,  she  aye  look'd  trig  and  clean  ; 
She  sang  sae  sweet,  she  aye  was  blyth  and  gash, 
Sae  gallant  gade,  an'  stood  as  streight's  a  rash  ! 
And  a'  the  lads,  baith  far  and  near,  allow'd 
That    Betty's    hair    was    like    the    links    o' 
eowd  ! 


ICO 

She  had  a  lad  that  liv'd  at  Cranshaw  toon, 
Wha  thought  the  warld  o'  his  ain  Betty  Broon, 
A  gentle  lad,  he  neither  drank  nor  smokit, 
And  Bet  and  he  wi'  fond  endearments  trockit; 
They  had  agreed  to  marry  'bout  the  Lammas, 
An'    tak'   up   house    somewhere    aboot  Auld 

Gammas," 

To  be  particular  (Grannie  then  did  say), 
That  Betty's  sweetheart  was  ca'd  Sandy  Hay. 

"Twa  men  folk  we  had  likewise  in  the  ha', 
Ane  ca'd  Tarn  Dodds — the  other  Jamie  Shaw, 
Out  bye  the  wark  was  ower  aboot  the  toon, 
Horses  were  supper'd  an'  were  bedded  doon, 
The  kye  had  a'  been  look'd  to  in  the  byre, 
And  we  sat  crackin'  round  the  kitchen  fire. 
Tam  Dodds  was  weak  in  head  but  strong  in  lung, 
He  never  kent  the  way  to  hold  his  tongue, 
I've  threaten'd  aft  to  tear  it  frae  the  root, 
I'm  unco  sure,  in  tvva,  'twad  clip'd  a  cloot, 
There's  nought  on  earth  wad  stop  his  dinsome 

blether, 

Out  o'  a  hair  the  ass  wad  mak  a  teather  ! 
He'd  jeer  and  jaw  and  say  sic  silly  things, 
I  e'en  ha'e  sworn  to  fell  him  wi'  the  tings ! 
But,  as  I  said  afore,  we  a'  sat  crackin', 
Out  bye  the  storrn  did  no  appear  to  slackin'. 
Tam  Dodds  gade  out,  but  soon  cam  clotterin' 

back, 

He  shook  wi'  cauld  and  in  the  nook  he  crap, 
*  Hech  me,'  quo  he,    '  the  storm  does  roar  and 

rift, 
Ye  canna  see  a  styme  for  sleet  and  drift, 


101 

The  night  is  dungeon  dark,  hech  !  how  it  blows, 
I  couldna  see  an  inch  afore  my  nose  ! ' 

"Then  he  did  say  to  Betty,  '  noo,  ma  woman, 
I  trow  this  night  yer  jo'  will  no  be  comin', 
If  he  should  venture  out  frae  Cranshaw  toon, 
He  ne'er  again  will  see  his  Betty  Broon  ! 
He'll  founder  'mang  the  haggs,  or  else,  ma  feigs, 
He'll  break  his  neck  out  owre  the  Raven-craigs  !  ' 
'Tarn  Dodds,'  quoth  I,  Mock  up  yer  tinkler 

jaw, 

Or  else  I'll  drive  yer  head  against  the  wa'.' 
At  this  the  fool  did  chuckle  in  his  glee, 
'  Wha    kens,'    he    cried,    'but    Betty    wad    tak' 

me.' 

Now  Betty  turned  as  mad — her  e'en  did  flare, 
Quo'  she,  (  now,  Tarn,  for  guidsake  sae  nae   mair, 
I  wadna  ha'e  (her  face  gat  red  wi'  anger) 
E'en  your  hale  bouk  for  my  jo's  little  finger  !  ' 
Now  Betty  rose  an'  e'en  gade  ben  the  ha', 
I  heard  a  scream,  and  then  I  heard  a  fa', 
I  hurried  ben,  and  there  poor  Betty  lay, 
Pale  as  a  ghost  an'  a'  her  breath  away  ! 
I  ran  for  water  wi'  a  pell-mell  race, 
And  deftly  dash'd  it  on  her  brow  and  face. 
Right  glad  was  I,  and  thankfu'  too,  I  ween, 
Whan  light  began  to  glimmer  in  her  e'en  ; 
I  raised  her  up  and  sat  her  on  a  chair, 
And  O  !  how  drench'd  was  a'  her  gowden  hair, 
The  whiteness  o'  the  lily  left  her  face, 
The  blushing  rose  took  up  the  lily's  place, 
And  then  she  spoke,  and  oh  !  she  spak  sae  wae, 
I'll  mind  her  words  unto  my  dying  day. 


She  said,  as  she  gade  up  to  her  bit  kist, 
Afore  her  e'en  there  cam'  a  hazzie  mist. 
She  saw  her  Sandy  on  the  Felcleugh-law, 
VVand'ring  sae  weary  'mang  the  trackless  snaw, 
She  saw  him  stand,  wi'  looks  o'  wild  despair, 
He  fell,  she  thought,  to  rise  for  never  mair  ! 
'  What  stuff,'   said  I,  '  come  now,  gang  to  your 

bed, 

That  gouk,  Tarn  Dodds,  }Oir  fancy  has  misled.' 
But  O  !  waes  me  !  unto  the  ha'  next  day 
There  cam'  a  man  to  seek  for  Sandy  Hay, 
His  track  was  found  —there  on   the  Felcleugh-law 
They   found    the    poor    lad    perished    'mang  the 

snaw, 
Just  at  the  spot  where  Betty  saw  him  fa' !  " 

Then  uncle  John  did  lay  aside  his  pipe, 
And  wi'  his  sleeve  a  tear  away  did  wipe, 
And  then  he  scratch'd  an'  scarted  at  his  croon, 
Then    said    to   Grannie,    "how    cam    on    Bet 

Broon  ?  " 

Then  Grannie  said,  "for  monie  a  day  and  year, 
She  grat  and  mourned   for  him  she  held  sae  dear; 
In  life  they  loved,  in  death  the  twa  were  pair'd — 
They  sleep  together  in  the  auld  kirk  yard  !  " 

My  Uncle  John  then  said,    "'twas  strange  and 

queer, 

How  Sandy's  ghost  should  to  Bet  Broon  appear, 
Your  story,  Grannie,  ca's  up  to  my  mind 
A  circumstance  o'  the  same  kith  and  kind  : 
I  mind  fu'  weel — 'twas  in  the  thirty-twa, 
I  then  was  living  up  at  East  Scarlaw, 


1Q3 

My  neighbor  herd,  I  wat,  was  Andrew  Reid, 
As  guid  a  man  as  e'er  possessed  a  head, 
As  guid  a  herd  as  ever  lampt  the  heather, 
And  he  and  I  were  unco  grit  thegether. 
Now  Andrew  had  a  wife,  her  name  was  Tibby, 
An  honest,  decent,  weel  respected  body, 
They  had  a'e  son,  a  weel  far'd  thrivin'  bairn, 
He  was  a  genius — how  the  lad  did  learn  ; 
E'en  at  the  table,  when  he  supped  his  brose, 
'Tween  ilka  sup  the  book  was  at  his  nose. 
He  gade  to  schule — his  parents  fondly  hopit 
They'd  see  some  day  his  head  wag  in  the  pu'pit, 
And  when   the  dominie  crammed  him   fu'   o' 

knowledge, 

They  sent  him  arTto  Edinboro'  college. 
And  aft  we  heard  that  John  was  never  beaten 
When  he  stood  up  to  blether  Greek  and  Latin. 
Now  ae  professor  tried  John  sair  to  tickle, 
And  put  to  him  some  questions  hard  and  kittle  ; 
John  had  him  there  !  for  just  as  quick  as  thought 
The  ready  answers  back  to  him  he  shot  ! 
The  great  professor  ga'e  an  unco  stare, 
Then  speered  at  him  where  he  had  got  his  lair  ? 
Then  John  stood  up,  and  answered  him  fu'  cool, 
That  he'd  been  taught  at  Lockermacus  school ; 
The  learned  man  ne'er  tried  again  to  puzzle  him, 
He  soon  found  out  that  John  could  fairly  muzzle 

him  ! 

"Atween  the  sessions,  John  wad  aye  come  hame, 
To  read  and  write,  and  rant  and  rave,  and  raim  • 
He'd  rise  and  preach  till  he  was  like  to  choke, 
He'd  stand  and  pray  unto  his  mother's  clock  ! 


He'd  wander  'mang  the  hills  to  rax  his  legs, 
And  gather  weeds,  stanes,  beetles,  fleas  and  clegs; 
He  piled  the  stanes  in  cairns  in  the  garret, 
He'd  tell  ye  a'  their  names,  just  like  a  parrot. 
His  father  sometimes  laughed  fu'  lang  and  crouse, 
And  say,    'John's  rocks  wad  yet  bring  down  the 

house.' 

Although  he  had  some  crotchets  in  his  head, 
He  was  as  kind  a  lad  as  e'er  brak  bread, 
The  minister  e'en  said,  wi'  muckle  pride, 
'John  was  a  credit  to  the  country  side  ! ' 

"About  that  time  I  courted  a  bit  lass, 
And  I  was  sair  enamoured  wi'  her  face. 
A'e  day  I  spoke  to  John,  just  at  the  random, 
That  I  wad  like  to  ha'e  her  memorandum  ; 
He  then  forthwith  took  up  his  chalk  and  keel, 
And  drew  her  face  right  off  upon  the  reel, 
I  have  it  yet — but  losh,  I'm  aff  the  track, 
Ae  day  he  went,  'twas  lang  ere  he  cam'  back; 
And   whan    he    cam'    he    look'd  baith    pale  and 

wan, 

His  mother  boilt  some  water  in  a  pan, 
She  bathed  his  feet,  she  gat  him  to  his  bed, 
But  O  !  that  night  an  unco  life  he  led, 
Poor  lad  !  he  raved,  a  fever  had  set  in, 
And  sair  afflicted  were  his  kith  and  kin. 
At  length  the  night  of  darkness  fled  away, 
The  sun  in  triumph  ushered  in  the  day, 
At  middle  day  the  fever  ran  its  course, 
And  yet  the  lad  was  growing  worse  and  worse, 
His  mother,  then,  plied  off  unto  the  toon, 
Wi'  anxious  heart,  to'  bring  the  doctor  doon, 


101 


When  comin'  back  alane,  as  sure's  I'm  born, 
She  saw  John  standin'  by  the  muckle  thorn, 
She  spoke,  she  cried,  she  screech'd  wi'  a'  her 

might, 

He  glided  off  and  vanished  out  o'  sight ! 
She  ferlied  sair,  she  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven, 
She  prayed  that  a'  her  sins  might  be  forgiven, 
Aside  the  thorn  she  laid  her  bosom  bare, 
She  prayed  that  God  her  only  son  would  spare; 
Her  words  re-echoed  o'er  the  lonely  lea — 
'  Oh  !  lift  his  load,  and  lay  the  load  on  me  !  ' 
When  she  got  home,  how  sad  it  is  to  say, 
His  heart  was  still — his  spirit  gone  away  ! 
What  tongue  can  tell  the  bitter  scene  of  grief? 
The  tears  of  anguish  could  not  bring  relief. 
Sorrow  and  sadness  ! — weary  was  the  sigh — 
The  shrieks  of  anguish  smote  the  very  sky  !  " 


4 


io6 


JOHN  fi.  JBRUCE,  psc^,  J^AMILTON 


SIR:  — 

The  bound'ry  line — the  message  cross'd  it, 
That  you  the  marriage  flag  had  hoisted, 
Then  wi'  the  news  right  hame  I  posted 

Fu'  gleg  and  gay, 
And  my  ain  winsome  wife  accosted 

And  thus  did  say  : — 

"Hurrah  !  John's  gat  a  better-half, 
Rin  out  and  stick  the  auldest  calf, 
And  cook  it  weel — I'll  tak'  my  staff 

And  ca'  our  freens ; 
Guidfaith  !   we'll  hae  a  hearty  yafT 

O'er  beef  and  greens." 

Then  my  guidwife  did  clasp  a  dirk, 
And  aff  she  sprang  to  do  the  wark, 
And  aff  I  scoured  to  Cameron,  Clerk, 

And  Bruce  McEwen, 
And  other  friends,  to  taste  the  stirk 

My  wife  was  stewin'. 


1Q7 

It  just  was  chapin'  four  o'clock, 
When  at  the  door  we  heard  a  knock  ; 
My  guidwife  ran  to  change  her  frock, 

And  ca'  her  daddie. 
I  turned  the  key;  quo  I,  "guid  folk, 

The  dinner's  ready  I  " 

Sae  down  we  sat  to  roast  and  stew, 

We  chewed  the  flesh  and  drank  the  broo, 

And  whan  our  kites  were  burstin'  fu', 

I  ca'd  the  lasses, 
"  Bairns,"  quo  I,  "we've  gotten  through, 

Take  aff  the  dishes." 

Then  frae  her  seat  our  Luckie  bangs, 
And  to  the  press  awa  she  gangs, 
And  brings  the  sugar  and  the  tangs, 

And  glass  and  spoon, 
Then  wi'  baith  hands  the  grey-beard  spangs, 

And  brings  it  doon. 

Now  when  the  toddy  was  approved, 
And  when  the  spirit  in  me  moved, 
Upon  my  shanks  it  me  behoved 

To  ca'  a  truce, 
"Come,  toast,"  quo'  I,  "  ane  lang  I've  lo'ed. 

His  name  is  Bruce." 

I  said,  <f  we  twa  were  thick  thegether, 
Our  thoughts  aye  ran  to  ane  another, 
That  Bruce  to  me  was  lani>m  a  brother 

In  word  and  deed  ; 
To  lose  his  friendship  I  wad  rather 

E'en  lose  my  head  !  " 


io8 

It  struck  the  audience  wi'  amaze, 

As  forth  I  launch'd  the  word  and  phrase, 

Man  !  how  I  yerkit  up  your  praise — 

My  jaws  did  wallop 
Just  like  a  horse  in  cart  or  chaise 

Whan  at  the  gallop  ! 

I  tald  them  a*  ye'd  changed  yer  life 
And  to  your  breast  had  pressed  a  wife, 
A  lassie  just  as  gleg's  a  knife, 

And  brisk  a'n  bonnie, 
Wha  cam'  frae  'bout  the  hills  o'  Fife 

To  mate  wi'  Johnie. 

We  drank  your  health  wi'  three  times  three, 
Toasted  the  bride  wi'  glorious  glee, 
Then  Cameron  said,  ' '  aye  let  me  see," 

(He  spak'  it  fine), 
"  I  hope  their  count  o'  bairns  will  be 

Just  twa  times  nine." 

When  we  gat  done  wi'  crack  and  jokin', 
Wi'  singin',  snuffin'  and  pipe  smokin', 
And  'fore  the  party  up  was  broken, 

To  cap  the  ploy, 
I  'greed  to  send  a  written  token, 

And  wish  ye  joy. 

I  hope  when  e'ening  shuts  her  e'e, 
When  ye  ha'e  gat  your  drap  o'  tea, 
Ye'll  soon  ha'e  bairns  on  ilka  knee, 

And  glower  and  smoke, 
Or,  wi'  ae  fit  wi'  cannie  jee, 

The  cradle  rock. 


109 

Ye'll  then  be  quits  wi'  care  and  strife, 
Ye'll  feel  the  essence  o'  this  life ; 
There  sits  your  bonnie  Scottish  wife 

Nae  cares  to  cark, 
Wi'  needle,  shears  and  ripping  knife, 

Mending  your  sark  ! 

'Tis  then  the  warld  may  birl  aboot, 
For  it  ye  carena  a  sheep  cloot, 
On  ilk  care  ye  plant  your  foot, 

Nae  griefs  molest, 
Ye'll  let  your  pipe  gang  heedless  out, 

Syne  slip  to  rest. 

My  Bruce !  I  pray  for  freedom's  sake, 

The  Bruce's  line  will  never  break, 

Their  hearts  from  right  no  power  can  shake, 

No  hand  can  turn  ; 
The  name  that  made  the  tyrant  quake, 

At  Bannockburn. 

I'm  running  out  o'  rhyme  and  clashes, 
My  muse  is  sometimes  dour  and  fashous, 
Although  at  times  awa  she  dashes, 

And  no  sae  han'less ; 
Now,  Sir,  accept  kind  hearty  wishes 

Frae  Andrew  Wanless. 


1  10 


j$HOULD    AND    ^HO   j$HOULDN'T, 


Inscribed  to  John   Bannerman,   Esq. 


In  days  bygone,  when  tyrants  held  the  rod, 
The  subject  trembled  at  their  very  nod ; 
These  days  are  changed — the  manners  growing 

worse, 
Hirelings  pay  homage  to  the  longest  purse. 

I  know  a  man — a  sage  profoundly  great, — 
Who  has  for  years  contended  against  fate, 
From  morn  to  night,  with  willing  heart  and  hand, 
He'd  strive  to  be  "a  something"  in  the  land. 
Free  is  his  heart  from  black  deceit  and  guile — 
Vice  has  his  frown  and  virtue  gains  his  smile. 

In  learned  circles  still  he  holds  the  sway, 
And  ticklish  points  can  make  as  clear  as  day; 
If  doubters  doubt,  how  quick  upon  the  boards 
He'll  trip  them  up,  and  knock  them  down  with 

words ; 

Yet  no  offense  is  found,  he  ne'er  is  slow 
To  pour  the  oil  upon  the  fallen  foe  ! 

At  evening's  close,  how  oft  with  him  I'd  walk, 
'Twas  then  I  heard  the  majesty  of  talk; 
On  "this"  he'd  touch,  on  "that"  he  would  descant, 

His  sounding  words  ne'er  drivel'dinto  rant. 


1 11 


He'd  take  a  pebble  from  the  common  ground, 
And  on  it  gaze  and  turn  it  round  and  round, 
From  small  beginnings,  clearly  he  would  trace 
Its  age,  its  properties  and  race, 
Proclaim  it  is  volcanic  in  formation, 
Then  sum  up  all  with  pointed  peroration. 

The  leaf  upon  the  tree — the  grassy  plant, 
With  wisdom's  aid,  on  these  he  can  descant ; 
He  knows  a  beetle  from  a  creeping  thing, 
How  reptiles  bite  and  how  the  hornets  sting, 
The  warbling  birds  that  sing  upon  the  sprey, 
With  cautious  step  he'd  listen  to  their  lay, 
Or,  stand  in  silence  least  they'd  fly  away. 

He  e'en  can  show  how  nature's  grand  design 
Has  drawn  'tween  species  a  dividing  line  ; 
Points  out  how  Darwin  in  a  wild  delusion 
Attempts  to  jumble  all  in  a  confusion; 
Quizzes  the  "  tail,"  denounces  Darwin's  plan, 
Rejects  his  theory  and  condemns  the  man 
Who  digs  in  chaos,  and  forgets  his  God, 
And  sends  his  buncombe  theories  abroad  ! 
How  oft  I've  wished  upon  our  evening  walk, 
Instead  of  I,  that  Darwin  heard  him  talk. 

The  stars  appear — the  countless  eyes  of  heaven; 
He  knows  the  pole — and  well  he  knows  the  seven; 
At  this  one  points  with  a  becoming  gesture, 
How  it  runs  loose,  and  that  one  is  a  fixture. 
At  times  he'll  laugh  and  say  some  curious  things, 
Scout  at  the  "tails"  yet  wish  that  he  had  wings 
To  fly  through  space  and  sweep   through  Saturn's 
rings, 


1  12 

And  in  his  towering  flight  and  trackless  way, 
Stop  and  pay  homage  to  the  god  of  day ; 
Then  back  to  earth,  to  spend  a  space  at  home — 
To  take  the  pen  and  write  a  wond'rous  tome  ! 

When  wars  begin,  how  quickly  he  can  trace 
Who  will  be  victor  in  the  bloody  race, 
Denounces  men  who  by  the  cannon  stand, 
And  sweeps  destruction  o'er  a  wretched  land, 
Denounces  men  who  fawn,  and  steal  and  fib, 
And  feed  and  fatten  at  the  public  crib. 

Questions    he   settles,    "yes,"    and    sometimes 

"no," 

And  say — "this  statesman  should  do  so  and  so  ;  " 
And  in  my  ardor  I  have  often  said  : 
"This  man  has  brains  to  be  a  nation's  head  !  " 
And  yet  this  sage  has  fallen  out  of  date, 
He  dines  with  want  upon  a  pewter  plate, 
He  stands  behind  the  scenes — has  grown  gray, 
And  like  a  vision  soon  will  pass  away, 
Or,  like  a  light  upon  some  distant  coast, 
That  flickers — fades — then  is  forever  lost ! 


There  lives  a  man,  his  name  I  need  not  tell, 
For  every  town  and  village  know  him  well, 
He  first  appeared  upon  the  public  view, 
To  run  an  errand  and  to  black  a  shoe; 
Quick  with  his  ear  and  ready  with  the  talk, 
He  learned  to  swear,  before  he  learned  to  walk ; 
Without  a  cap  or  shoe  upon  his  feet, 

He'd  toss  the  copper  on  the  quiet  street, 


113 


He'd  lurk  in  barns  or  on  door-steps  recline, 
When  pity  spoke,  how  well  the  knave  could 

whine, 
With  hungry  throat  gulph  down  compassions 

meal — 
Laugh  in  his  sleeve — then  turn  aside  to  steal. 

Behind  a  fence,  in  some  secluded  yard, 
He  learned  to  deal  and  know  the  winning  card, 
He  next  began  to  swagger  and  to  smoke, 
To  sing  a  song,  and  tell  the  silly  joke. 
One  morn  we  missed  him,  and  we  did  not  mourn, 
From  his  vile  haunts  the  little  imp  was  torn — 
To  where  the  sinners  have  their  ringlets  shorn. 

Some  years  had  fled,  and  he  came  back  once 

more, 

Ten  times  more  brazen  than  he  was  before  ; 
One  day,  I  saw  him  standing  in  a  crowd, 
And  while  he  stood,  the  knave  was  talking  loud, 
And  as  the  laugh  went  round,  he  gave  a  wink, 
And  cried,  "come,  boys,  and  let  us  have  a  drink." 

When   next  I  saw  him,  how  my  eyes  did  stare, 
I  heard  him  talk  and  saw  him  beat  the  air — 
"  Elect  me,  friends !  "  the  rest  I  did  not  hear, 
I  stood  aside  to  shed  the  bitter  tear. 

He  was  elected  !   Vice  aloud  did  crow — 
And  Virtue  wept  upon  the  couch  of  woe, 
Yet,  though  the  knave  could  neither  read  nor 

write, 

With  gilded  hook  he  coaxed  the  crowd  to  bite  ; 
What  was  the  cause  ?  the  answer  has  no  crook  ; 
He  gained  his  point  with  some  one's  pocket- 
book  ! 


"4 

Who  cannot  catch  the  MORAL  must  be  blind, 
Hardened  in  heart — perverted  in  the  mind. 
The  lesson  may  be  learned  from  what  I've  said — 
Reject  the  low  and  choose  the  higher  grade, 
Reject  the  vile  who  wear  the  brazen  brand, 
Elect  the  good  and  heaven  will  bless  the  land  ; 
Choose  men  of  worth — give  wisdom,   power  and 

place, 
Then  Faith  and  Hope  will  run  an  equal  race  ! 


TIB'S    SLIGHTED    M.E,    YE    KEN 


Inscribed  to  A.   Me  Adam,   Esq. 


Ae  night  I  knocked  at  Tibby's  door, 
The  dogs  set  up  an  unco  roar, 
Her  mother  loud  the  brutes  did  shoar, 
As  I  gade  snooling  ben. 

I  speer'd  if  "  Tibby  wasna  in  ?" 
The  auld  wife's  specks  fell  o'er  her  chin. 
The  auld  man  claw'd  his  cuits  and  shin 
And  said,  "he  didna  ken." 

He  spak  and  speer'd  where  I  cam  frae, 
And  if  I  shank'd  it  a'  the  way  ; 
She  glower'd  at  me  frae  tap  to  tae, 
But  Tibby  ne'er  cam'  ben. 


/ 


I  glanced  aye  at  the  but  house  door, 
I  heard  a  kissing  skirling  splore, 
The  sweat  broke  out  at  ilka  pore, 

Wha's  there  I'd  like  to  ken  ? 

Wi'  grief  I  scare  could  raise  my  head, 
My  heart  felt  like  a  lump  o'  lead, 
J  haflins  prayed  that  I  was  dead, 

Woe's  me  !  she  ne'er  cam'  ben. 

The  auld  man  sair  did  glunch  and  gloom, 
The  wife  wad  neither  sink  or  soom, 
But  aye  she  patter'd  round  the  room, 
Like  an  auld  clockin'  hen. 

I  sat  and  ga'e  a  kind  o'  grane, 
My  head  and  heart  were  cramm'd  wi'  pain, 
Sae  daised  I  scarce  could  rise  my  lane, 
But  Tibby  ne'er  cam  ben. 

At  last,  said  I,  "  I  maun  awa  ;  " 
The  guidman  ga'e  his  croon  a  claw, 
The  guidwife  said,  "guid  guide  us  a', 
Its  on  the  stroke  o'  ten." 

Then  out  I  gade  wi'  hanging  lugs, 
'Mang  grunts  and  granes  and  barking  dowgs, 
My  heart  strings  ga'e  sic  rives  and  rugs, 
I  scarce  could  stand  on  en'. 

As  hame  I  gade  amang  the  weet, 
My  head  hang  over  twa  shorking  feet, 
I  envied  lambs  and  sheep  wha  bleet, 
And  fend  upon  the  fen. 


n6 

Unmindful  o'  the  guns  and  snares, 
I  envied  e'en  the  maping  hares, 
The  very  brownies  in  their  lairs — 
Tib's  slighted  me  ye  ken. 


JEAN  AND  DONALD ; 

— OR, — 
THE  SMASHING  OF  THE  TEA-POT, 


A    TRUE     STORY. 


Inscribed   to    Neil    Taylor,    Esq. 


A  number  of  people  of  the  present  generation,  I  have  no 
doubt,  can  well  remember  the  time  when  tea  was  considered 
a  great  rarity  in  Scotland,  especially  in  the  rural  distiicts. 
Those  who  were  in  the  habit  of  indulging  in  that  beverage 
were  looked  upon  by  many  as  deluded  mortals,  and  considered 
to  be  no  better  than  the  opium  eater  of  our  own  period.  In 
fact,  the  greater  number  of  the  inhabitants  knew  as  little 
about  tea  as  a  cat  knows  about  a  snuff  box.  In  corroboration 
of  this,  an  old  woman,  called  Tibby  Gourlay,  who  lived  in 
the  parish  of  Westruther,  one  day  fell  very  sick  of  an  "onfa," 
for  which  no  remedy  could  be  obtained.  The  dis- 


tressing  news  of  Tibby's  sickness  reached  the  ears  of  the  lady 
of  Spottiswood,  who  immediately  dispatched  a  servant  with  a 
quantity  of  tea  to  be  administered  to  the  invalid.  The  tea 
was  tumbled  into  a  porridge  pot  along  with  a  quanlity  of 
water  and  then  boiled  for  a  considerable  time  ;  the  water 
was  then  thrown  out  of  doors,  and  the  leaves  mashed  up 
with  butter,  pepper  and  salt,  and  this  mess  was  then  served 
up  to  Tibby,  who  ate  the  whole  with  great  energy  and 
delight.  Next  morning,  strange  to  tell,  she  was  able  to  be 
up  with  the  sun,  and  accomplished  a  heavy  day's  spinning  on 
the  big  wheel  to  the  satisfaction  of  herself  and  all  concerned. 
She  died  about  thirty  years  ago,  aged  ninety  nine.  The 
following  is  written,  not  upon  Tibby,  but  upon  Jean  and 
Donald,  who  were  born  and  brought  up  in  another  part  of 
the  Heather  Isle. 


In  Islay's  fine  and  fertile  isle, 

All  in  the  county  of  Argyle, 

There  Donald  lived,  wha  had  a  wife, 

The  dread  and  torment  o'  his  life  ; 

Afore  he  claimed  Jean  as  his  bride, 

She  e'en  had  travelled  unco  wide, 

And  learned  to  turn  up  her  nose 

At  pease  meal  bannocks  and  at  brose  ! 

Ae  year  she  wint'red  'bout  Dunbarton, 

And  tied  her  stockin'  wi'  a  garten  ; 

She  even  tried  hard  to  get  married, 

But  a'  her  purposes  miscarried  ; 

She  had  no  friends  about  Alaska, 

But  had  an  aunt  wha  lived  in  Glasgow, 

Sae  faith,  she  mounted  on  a  coach, 

And  to  that  city  she  did  hotch. 


When  there  she  fell  in  deep  dejection, 
For  she  had  lost  her  aunt's  direction, 
She  speered  at  folk  and  bairns  in  plenty, 
If  they  ken'd  aught  aboot  her  aunty  ? 
At  last  by  kind  o'  luck  or  fate, 
She  faund  her  in  the  Gallowgate. 
Her  aunty  was  a  lonely  woman, 
She  didna  ken  her  niece  was  comin'; 
She  gave  a  jump — she  stood  amazed 
When  on  the  stranger's  form  she  gazed  ! 
Then  both  did  raise  an  Islay  yell, 
When  in  ilk  other's  arms  they  fell  ! 
Then  Jean  exclaimed,  "my  woe  is  past, 
I've  found  my  aunty  at  the  last." 

How  nice  it  is  on  some  occasions, 
To  meet  with  one's  own  blood  relations, 
But  sweeter  far  'tis  to  the  lover, 
To  meet  and  kiss  and  hug  the  other ; 
High  is  that  love,  'tis  oft  hysteric, 
And  far  above  my  panegyric. 
O  !  love,  fain  would  I  thee  extol — 
The  prop  and  centre  of  the  soul  ! 

The  aunt  then  said,  "my  darling  niece, 
In  size  ye've  made  a  great  increase, 
'Tis  only  twenty  years  by-gane 
Ye  couldna  stand  your  leefu'  lane  ! 
Guidfaith  !  ye're  now  a  winsome  straper 
As  ever  gade  in  gown  or  wrapper, 
My  certy  !  ye're  as  fine  a  lass 
As  e'er  keek'd  in  a  looking  glass; 
Gang  down  the  stair,  my  niece,  so  dear, 
And  bring  me  up  a  jug  o'  beer, 


u9 


A  drop  o'  beer  in  glass  or  measure, 

Will  calm  my  heart  that  loups  wi'  pleasure, 

And  after  that,  'tween  you  and  me, 

I'll  mask  a  hair  o'  guid  black  tea." 

These  words  were  barely  out  her  lips, 

When  down  the  stairs  Miss  Jeanie  trips, 

And  brings  her  aunty  up  a  jug 

O'  beer  filled  to  the  very  lug  ; 

Sae  soon  as  they  the  liquor  tasted, 

Their  tongues  for  no  ae  minit  rested. 

When  aunty  gat  the  tea  things  ready, 
Miss  Jean  sat  down  just  like  my  lady, 
And  aye  she  took  the  other  sup, 
Then  raised  her  neb  up  frae  the  cup — 
Twisting  her  head — see  there,  look  at  her, 
Just  like  a  hen  whan  drinking  water; 
Her  aunt  gecked  at  her  with  affection, 
Jean  thought  herseP  complete  perfection  ! 

'Tis  strange  that  poor  deluded  craters 
Will  ape  the  manners  o'  their  betters, 
And  turn  and  twist,  and  put  on  airs, 
Like  horses  at  the  country  fairs ! 
'Tis  a  disease  bred  in  the  bone, 
It  rages  rife  frae  zone  to  zone, 
Wi'  this  e'en  Hornie  was  diseased, 
Whan  frae  the  heaven's  he  was  heezed, 
But  faith,  another  sang  he  routit, 
Whan  'mang  the  brimstone  he  was  coupit ! 
Folk  !   folk,  I  pray,  tak'  my  example, 
And  no  in  Satan's  footsteps  trample, 
The  bard  wi'  kicks  frae  fortune's  foot, 
Has  gat  his  pride  clean  knockit  out, 


120 


If  ony's  left,  whan  a'  is  dune, 
It  wadna  lade  a  mustard  spoon  ! 

Whan  at  their  tea,  midst  joke  and  crack, 
The  au!d  aunt's  mind  gade  wand'ring  back 
To  times  whan  she  did  hear  the  roar 
O'  billows  lashing  Islay's  shore  ! 
Then  she  inquired,  "if  ducks  and  drakes 
Aye  swam  about  the  coves  and  lakes; 
And  if  the  fowls  in  pairs  and  flocks, 
Still  bred  amang  the  muckle  rocks; 
And  if  Neil  Taylor  still  gangs  out 
To  blister  horses,  dogs  and  nowte; 
And  if  his  wife,  and  bairnies  monie, 
Are  a'  as  guid  as  they  are  bonnie; 
If  Duncan  Campbell  blyth  was  singin', 
And  to  the  island  still  was  hingin', 
And  if  his  thirty-second  cousin 
Had  now  o'  weans  a  baker's  dizen?" 
To  a'  these  questions,  and  far  mair, 
Miss  Jean  made  answer  on  the  square. 

For  sax  lang  weeks  the  twa  were  bousin', 
Baith  night  and  day  they  were  carousin'; 
At  length  whan  tea  and  toast  gat  scanty, 
Miss  Jean  did  say  unto  her  aunty: 
"  I  trow  I'll  gang  the  road  I  came, 
I'm  grienin'  sairly  to  gang  hame, 
I've  gi'en  ye  now  a  guid  lang  ca', 
I'm  sure  it's  time  I  was  awa." 
The  twa  shook  hands,  then  aff  Jean  flounced, 
And  down  her  grannie's  stair  she  pounced, 
She  darted  for  the  Broomelaw, 
Whan  she  gat  there  how  she  did  blavv  : 


1  21 


It  was  nae  lang  ere  down  the  Clyde, 
Wi'  Jean  on  board,  a  ship  did  glide. 

Sweet  stream  !  O,  may  thou  aye  meander, 
On  earth  there  is  nae  river  grander  ! 
By  thee  a  bonnie  lass  I  courted, 
Wi'  my  fond  heart  she  played  and  sported  ; 
My  lovely,  fair-haired,  blooming  Susan 
Did  prove  to  be  a  dear  delusion  ! 
I'd  sing  o'  Clyde  with  livelier  glee 
If  Susan  hadna  slighted  me  ; 
False  maid  !  she  shot  a  cruel  dart 
That  still  is  stickin'  in  my  heart ! 
Both  night  and  day  I  have  a  doubt 
That  time  will  never  drag  it  out. 

Now  twenty  hours  it  took,  or  more, 
To  land  Miss  Jean  on  Islay's  shore  ; 
As  Donald  stood  upon  the  key 
His  future  wife  he  chanced  to  see, 
Though  he  was  unco  short  o'  sight, 
He  saw  her  frae  the  ship  alight. 
She  hadna  been  on  shore  a  week, 
Till  he  on  her  again  did  keek, 
Then  o'er  the  lugs  in  love  he  sluced 
Sae  soon  as  he  was  introduced. 

Arouse,  my  muse !  spread  wide  your  wing, 
'Bout  Donald  and  his  darling  sing, 
His  love  was  not  an  idle  dream, 
'Twas  higher  than  the  rainbow's  rim, 
Yes,  Donald's  love,  before  he  wed, 
Was  deeper  than  the  ocean's  bed  ! 


'Twas  brighter  than  an  infant's  eye, 
And  fairer  than  the  summer's  sky : 
Jean's  heart  was  like  a  stream  run  dry. 

How  Jean  did  giggle,  smile  and  smirk, 
When  she  led  Donald  to  the  kirk, 
And  when  the  nuptial  knot  was  tied 
Wi'  love  poor  Donald  shook  and  sighed, 
But  Jean  did  stand,  the  graceless  limmer, 
Thinking  'bout  nothing  but  her  dinner  ! 
When  they  gat  hame  to  marriage  feast, 
I  needna  say  Jean  did  her  best, 
She  tried  the  pork,  the  beef  and  ham, 
Pig's  feet,  hen's  legs  and  roasted  lamb  ; 
But  for  the  haddies  and  the  herrin' 
She  said  she  wasna'  muckle  carein', 
Then  she  devoured  as  a  desert 
A  moderate  share  o'  tea  and  tart. 

Ten  years  flew  by  o'  married  life — 
Ten  years  o'  badg'ring,  bick'ring  strife  ; 
Love  out  their  door  slink'd  aff  wi'  passion, 
As  care  and  hardship  took  possession  ! 
Poor  Donald  gat  as  lean's  a  craw, 
And  ilka  day  away  did  fa', 
He  just  was  perfect  skin  and  bane, 
Yet  still,  he  ne'er  complained  o'  pain. 
Though  want  was  in  poor  Donald's  spoon, 
Jean's  face  was  like  the  rising  moon  ! 
She  managed  weel,  in  spite  o'  fate, 
To  aye  hae  plenty  on  her  plate, 
She  turned  a  kind  o'  tousy  drab, 
And  thought  rbout  nothing  but  her  gab  ! 


123 


It  fell  upon  an  afternoon 
Whan  Donald's  wark  was  early  done, 
As  he  was  cannie  slinkin'  hame, 
He  thought  he'd  cheat  his  sturdy  dame, 
And  buy  a  half  a  pound  o'  butter, 
And  ha'e  a  kind  o'  secret  supper ; 
He  gained  his  door  and  in  his  garret 
He  creepit  like  an  evil  spirit, 
He  glow'red  about — his  wife  was  missin' 
He  thought  that  was  a  heaven's  blessin', 
Then  frae  the  press  he  took  a  platter 
And  on  it  slaster'd  a'  the  butter, 
Then  set  it  down  upon  the  dresser. 
When  rinnin'  out  to  get  some  meal 
He  ran  against  daft  Rab  McNeil  ; 
''Gang  in,"  he  said,  "I'll  soon  be  back, 
Syne  Rabbie,  we  will  ha'e  a  crack." 
Poor  Donald  felt  a  wee  contented, 
As  things  were  working  as  he  wanted. 
Now  ben  the  house  daft  Rabbie  goes — 
He  saw  the  butter  'fore  his  nose, 
And  then  the  poor  misguided  lad 
Did  hide  it  underneath  the  bed  ! 
Back  Donald  cam,'  wi'  strange  surprise, 
He  scarcely  could  believe  his  eyes, 
He  glow'red,  he  gave  a  dismal  groan — • 
Then  roared,  "where  is  the  butter  gone?" 
Now  Rab  did  on  his  cantle  clat, 
"The    thief,"    he    said,    "must    be    the 

cat." 

Then  Donald  swore  unto  his  frien', 
If  on  the  brute  he'd  clap  his  e'en, 


124 


He'd  wring  her  neck  just  like  a  craw, 

And  dash  her  head  against  the  wa', 

He'd  gi'e  her  sic  a  fearfu'  blatter, 

She  ne'er  again  wad  steal  his  butter  ! 

"For  that,"  quo'  Rab,  "ye  needna  grane — 

See  !  there  she  sits  on  the  jamb  stane  !  " 

Then  Donald  whispers,  *'  Rab,  be  quick, 

And  rax  me  owre  that  muckle  stick, 

And  I  will  gi'e  her  sic  a  billet, 

Will  mak'  her  life  flee  up  her  gullet !  " 

As  Rabbie  handed  owre  the  rung, 

Grim  silence  sat  on  Donald's  tongue, 

His  mouth  and  e'en  were  open  wide, 

As  on  his  tiptoes  he  did  glide, 

He  raised  the  rung  abune  his  croon, 

Wi'  fearfu'  yerk  the  rung  cam'  doon  ! 

A  something  ga'e  a  crack — a  crash — 

A  something  on  his  face  played  splash  ; 

Then  Donald  yelled,  "  I'm  dead  !  I'm  gone  ! 

I'm  burning  to  the  very  bone  ! 

Cat's  blood  is  just  as  hot  as  fire, 

Oh  !  Rabbie,  come,  till  I  expire  !  " 

Then  Rabbie  roared,   "ye've  missed  the  cat 

And  smashed  to  atoms  the  teapat !  " 

Then  Donald  howled,  "  the  deil  tak'  me, 

I  never  kent  Jean  swallow'd  tea, 

I  ken  it  now,  and  here  I  swear  it, 

Henceforth  she'll  never  drink  nae  mair  o't, 

I'll  put  an  end  to  her  extortion, 

For  death,  this  night,  will  be  her  portion  ! 

This  night  I'll  mak'  her  change  her  pasture, 

My  faith  !  but  she's  a  fine  tea  waster; 


\ 


She'll  live  on  tea  and  finely  fare, 
While  I  maun  gang,  I  do  declare, 
Just  like  a  wraith  abune  the  grund, 
And  live  on  brose  and  heaven's  wind  ! 
Her  black  misdeeds  ha'e  now  nae  clock, 
She's  let  her  cat  clean  out  the  poke  !  " 
As  Donald  ended  this  harangue, 
His  wife  into  the  house  played  bang, 
And  as  the  twa  began  to  roar, 
Prudence  step'd  up  and  shut  the  door. 


EPITAPH. 

Donald  is  gane — his  cares  are  o'er — 
He  sleeps  on  Islay's  fertile  shore, 
Cats  he'll  ne'er  mistake  again 
For  teapots  standin'  on  jamb  stane, 
Nae  butter  he  needs  in  his  brose, 
His  sad  career  is  at  a  close  ! 
And  Jean,  his  wife,  now  lies  at  rest 
Upon  his  cold  and  lifeless  breast. 


126 


p.  ^EAK  JVlAN  AND  A  STRONG  WOMAN, 

Inscribed  to  C.  Tyncr^  ESQ.,  Hamilton^  Ontario^  an  unco 
auld  friend. 


We  met  beneath  the  trysting  tree, 
The  light  o'  love  was  in  her  e'e, 
I  knew  her  love  was  a'  for  me, 

That  Peggy  would  be  mine. 

We  wander'd  o'er  the  flow'ry  brae, 
To  where  the  rippling  waters  play, 
I  kissed  her  lips,  she  ne'er  said  nay, 
1  thought  she  was  divine. 

I  saw  the  blush  upon  her  cheek, 
I  heard  her  words  sae  mild  and  meek, 
Wi'  joy  I  scarce  could  stand  or  speak, 
Such  love  there  was  lang-syne. 

Soon  we  were  wed,  what  next  befell, 
I  think  black  burning  shame  to  tell, 
For  soon  her  tongue  went  like  a  bell, 
With  grief  sair  I  did  pine. 


She  aften  swinged  me  off  my  chair, 
She  filled  my  heart  with  black  despair, 
And  loaded  me  wi'  tons  o'  care, 
As  ye  may  well  opine. 

If  she  had  yatter'd  wi'  her  tongue, 
And  been  less  free  to  use  the  rung, 
To  her,  through  life,  I  might  hae  clung, 
And  thought  my  lot  was  fine. 

I've  heard  some  wives  when  things  went  'rang, 
Would  whistle  up,  or  sing  a  sang, 
But  Peg,  wi'  rage,  my  throat  would  spang — 
Afore  I  counted  nine. 

I'll  saddle  up  my  pacing  horse, 
And  heckle  her  wi'  a  divorce; 
Then  she  may  live  with  black  remorse — 
She'll'never  more  be  mine. 

By  night  and  day,  I'll  seek  a  wife 
Who  will  bring  comfort  to  my  life, 
We'll  feast  on  love  and  fast  from  strife — 
And  aye  with  Cupid  dine. 

But  Peg  saw  me  girth  up  my  steed, 
Slap-dash  she  came  wi'  headlang  speed  ! 
And  like  a  vice  she  held  my  head 

And  grasped  the  halter  line  ! 

She  cried,  "  ye  sumph  gang  in  the  house," 
I  sleekit  in  just  like  a  mouse, 
Hech  me  !  I  didna  craw  sae  crouse, 
But  sore  did  fidge  and  whine. 


128 

I  thought  it  best  to  bow  and  bend, 
And  think  upon  my  latter  end, 
For  Oh  !  she  gave  me  such  a  send 
As  nearly  broke  my  spine. 

"  Oh  !  Peg,"  I  yelled,  "  take  in  the  horse, 
I  ne'er  will  ride  for  a  divorce, 
Have  mercy,  or  ye'll  end  my  course — 
Wi'  that  lang  halter  line." 

As  Tam  ga'e  the  last  sentence  vent, 
Instanter,  Peg  did  sair  repent, 
To  hug  and  kiss  they  briskly  went 
Fu'  canty  and  fu'  fine. 

Now  ilka  man,  baith  far  and  near, 
Just  gi'e  your  wife  your  breeks  to  wear, 
And  let  her  still  the  helm  steer — 
As  Adam  did  lang  syne. 

Your  life  will  be  a  honeymoon, 
If  ye  just  coax  her  into  tune, 
And  feed  her  wi'  a  soothing  spoon — 
And  swear  she  is  divine  ! 


129 


A 


Inscribed  to   Wylle  Nielson)   Esq. 


Upon  a  cold  and  rainy  night, 

When  moon  and  stars  were  out  of  sight, 

A-coming  down  the  lonely  street, 

A  little  child  I  chanced  to  meet ; 

The  wee  bit  lassie's  feet  were  bare, 

The  rain  had  droukit  a'  her  hair, 

And  as  the  child  came  running  near, 

I  trow  her  heart  was  filled  wi'  fear ; 

A  something  whisper'd  me  to  stand, 

I  took  her  kindly  by  the  hand, 

Then  said,  "my  child,  what  is  amiss, 

To  bring  ye  out  a  night  like  this  ? " 

The  lassie  hung  her  head  wi'  shame, 

She  said,  "Oh!  sir,  come  to  our  hame;" 

I  strok'd  the  bonnie  bairnie's  hair, 

I  carried  her  wi'  cannie  care  ; 

The  rain  in  torrents  still  did  pour 

As  we  reached  her  father's  door.  t 

Within  the  house  I  heard  a  moan — 

A  shriek — a  wild  unearthly  groan ; 

I  saw  a  sight — a  man  was  there, 

Sunk  in  the  depths  of  black  despair, 


His  bloodshot  eyes  were  staring  wild,, 

Anon  he  wept  just  like  a  child, 

And  then  with  terror  loud  did  yell, 

Contending  with  an  inward  hell, 

Then  on  the  ground  he  down  would  lie 

To  wrestle  with  his  agony  ! 

He  trembling  crouch'd  with  fear  and  dread, 

The  demons  hovered  round  his  head, 

He  prayed,  he  cried  on  bended  knee — 

"  O  God,  have  mercy  upon  me  !  " 

I  said,  "may  heaven  hear  the  prayer, 

And  calm  the  bosom  of  despair. " 

The  little  child,  Oh!  how  she  wept, 

As  to  her  father's  side  she  cript, 

He  clasped  her  to  his  frenzied  breast, 

And  tenderly  her  lips  he  pressed, 

And  as  the  tears  fell  down  like  rain, 

He  cried,  "no  drink  I'll  touch  again  !  " 

His  "  ministering  angel  "  came, 

He  called  her  kindly  by  her  name, 

Then  said,  "from  drink  I  stop  this  night, 

Henceforth  I'll  be  a  Rechabite." 

He  kept  his  word,  contentment  reigns, 
He  broke  the  drunkard's  galling  chains, 
Now  peace  and  plenty  smile  once  more, 
And  poverty  has  left  his  door. 

Join,  brothers,  then  with  heart  and  hand, 
The  seed  of  Hope  sow  in  the  land, 
And  strive  with  all  your  might  to  save 
The  drunkard  from  the  drunkard's  grave. 


A  SCOTCH  |BAGNSTER'S  J^OMIN- 


Inscribed  to    T.  McGregor,   Esq.,   President  of  St.  Andrews 
Society,  Detroit. 


On  Monday,  in  St.  Andrew's  Ha', 
Rally  !  men  and  brithers  a', 
Send  the  news  baith  far  and  near — 
A  Scottish  Sangster's  comin'  here  ! 
Deck'd  fu'  braw  in  Highland  kilt, 
He  will  sing  us  monie  a  lilt 
'Bout  auld  Scotland's  heath'ry  hills, 
Birken  glens  and  wimplin'  rills, 
Where  the  lav'rocks  sweetly  sing, 
Where  the  bonnie  blue  bells  spring. 
Hame  !  we'll  ne'er  forget  ava 
'Till  our  latest  breath  we  draw. 

While  the  daisy  decks  the  lea, 
Scotia's  sangs  will  never  dee — 
Floating  down  time's  silent  river, 
Time  and  them  will  die  togither; 
Send  the  news  baith  far  and  near, 
A  Scottish  Sangster's  comin'  here  ! 
Nane  like  him  our  sangs  can  han'le — 
He's  the  lad  to  haud  the  can'le  ; 


Sangs  o'  Scotland  he  will  sing, 
Will  make  the  very  rafters  ring; 
Sangs  o'  dule  and  dark  despair, 
Will  mak'  us  rug  and  rive  our  hair, 
Sangs  wi'  monie  a  weary  mane, 
Wad  melt  a  very  heart  o'  stane ; 
Sangs  o'  love,  o'  joy,  and  fear, 
Heartfelt  words  forever  dear. 

Come  ye  lasses  blythe  and  braw, 
Welcome  to  St.  Andrew's  Ha'  ! 
His  funny  cracks  will  mak'  for  weeks 
The  tears  rin  down  yer  bonnie  cheeks, 
Folk  !  we  manna  stay  at  hame, 
That  wad  be  a  burnin'  shame — 
Send  the  news  baith  far  and  near, 
A  Scottish  Sangster's  comin'  here ! 


SONGS. 


j^RAIGIE     £ 


RAIGIE    LASTLE. 


AIR — Catherine  Ogie. 


Upon  a  rocky  bank  of  the  clear  winding  Dye,  in  a  beauti 
ful  and  secluded  dell,  the  ruins  of  Craigie  castle  can  still  be 
seen.  Some  years  ago,  it  was  a  favorite  amusement  of  the 
school  boys  to  hurl  the  stones  of  this  ruin  down  the  deep 
declivity,  and  with  something  akin  to  awe  watch  them,  as 
they  rolled,  dashed  and  plunged  into  the  pool  below.  A 
little  to  the  right  of  this  ruin  is  Peel  Hill,  where  a  fine  view 
of  the  surrounding  district  can  be  obtained.  From  its  name 
there  can  be  no  doubt,  that  upon  its  top  the  beacon  fire  has 
often  been  kindled  to  warn  the  inhabitants  that  danger  was 
near — that  the  enemy  was  approaching.  There  is  every 
evidence  to  show  that  the  Lammermoors,  being  so  near  the 
Scotch  and  English  borders,  must  have  been  the 


scene  of  many  a  deadly  conflict.  There  is  a  tradition 
that  the  Dye  received  its  name  from  its  being  literally 
dyed  with  the  blood  of  the  slain.  To  the  west  of 
Peel  Hill  is  a  place  called  Main-Slaughter-law,  where  the 
turf  and  peat  diggers  have  frequently  turned  up  the  imple 
ments  of  warfare. 

In  this  vicinity,  also,  there  is  an  Otterburn,  and  the  writer 
in  the  "  Statistical  Account  of  Scotland  "  surmises  that  this 
may  have  been  the  ground  where  the  celebrated  battle  of 
that  name  took  place.  Some  miles  distant,  upon  a  high 
elevation,  stand  the  Twin-law  Cairns,  regarding  which, 
tradition  has  it,  that  in  view  of  the  two  armies  of  the  Picts 
and  Scots  a  deadly  conflict  took  place  between  twin  brothers. 
One  of  the  brothers  had  been  stolen  in  his  infancy  by  the 
Picts,  and  as  the  two  fell  to  rise  no  more  an  aged  warrior 
made  known  their  relationship.  Tradition  also  says  that  the 
soldiers  of  both  armies  formed  a  line  of  some  miles  in  ex 
tent  and  handed  stones  from  one  to  another  from  the  bed  of 
the  stream  of  Watch  to  build  the  Cairns,  which  remain  to 
this  day.  Regarding  this  tradition,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Jamieson, 
of  Westruther,  published  in  the  work  before  mentioned  a 
beautiful  ballad  that  escaped  the  researches  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  while  compiling  his  "  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Bor. 
der,"  and  which  the  reverend  gentleman  wrote  down  from 
the  recital  of  two  old  men,  who  resided  in  that  locality. 

The  following  ballad  is  founded  on  a  tradition  that  the 
lord  of  the  castle  before  mentioned  had  gone  to  the  wars,  and 
le.t  his  young  wife  to  mourn  his  absence  for  "twice  seven 
long  months  "  and  that  on  a  moonlight  night  she  heard  the 
drum  beat.  She  ran  to  the  turret  of  the  castle  overlooking 
the  Dye,  and  while  there  she  observed  her  lord  m:.ke 


135 

a  dangerous  leap  across  the  stream  at  a  place  called  the 
"  Darin-step,"  and  from  this  cause  it  is  said,  her  strength 
forsook  her,  and  the  child  she  held  in  her  arms  fell  into  the 
abyss  below.  The  ballad  tells  the  rest. 


The  sun  had  set  ayont  the  hill, 

The  moon  on  high  was  creeping, 
When  on  her  couch  a  lady  fair 

Wi'  sorrow  sair  was  weeping  ; 
And  aye  she  wrung  her  milk-white  hands, 

And  frae  her  e'en  sac  bonny 
The  waefu'  tears  ran  rowin'  doon, 

Unseen,  unkent  by  ony. 

Her  lord  wras  e'en  as  brave  a  knight 

As  e'er  wore  kilt  or  pladie; 
Now  he  has  gone  unto  the  wars 

And  left  his  winsome  lady. 
He  bade  farewell  unto  his  bride, 

He  kissed  her  lips  sae  bonny, 
He's  kissed  her  ower  and  ower  again, 

She's  gien  him  kisses  monie. 

Now  he  has  buckled  on  his  sword, 

His  gallant  steed  is  ready  ; 
The  waesome  tears  fell  ower  his  cheek 

When  parting  frae  his  lady. 
Twice  seven  lang  months  had  fled  away  ; 

Her  wounded  heart  was  breakin', 
For  still  the  thought  wad  come  and  go — 

That  she  was  left  forsaken,  V 

I         \  "r       i 


'36 

And  aye  she  wrung  her  lily  hands 

Upon  the  bed  of  sorrow, 
And  sair  she  longed  again  to  see 

The  dawin'  o'  the  morrow. 
She  clasp'd  her  infant  to  her  breast, 

She  heard  the  distant  drumming, 
Wi'  joy  she  climbed  the  turret  high 

To  watch  her  true  knight  coming. 

She  saw  him  leap  the  Darin-step, 
Wi'  dread  her  heart  did  shiver, 

Then  frae  her  arms  the  child  fell  down- 
Down  in  the  raging  river  ! 

The  heavens  heard  her  shriek  of  woe, 
The  warrior  saw  his  lady 

Leap  from  the  castle's  dizzy  hight, 
In  death  she  clasp'd  her  baby  ! 


137 


J^EART   WAS    ALL     M.INE    OWN 


AIR — Gloomy  ivinter^s  now  aiva. 


Gloomy  days  and  weary  nights, 

Sad  and  lonely  I  am  now, 
Grief  is  monarch  of  my  heart, 

Sorrow  sits  upon  my  brow. 
In  the  spring-time  of  my  life, 

I  woo'd  a  maiden  fair  to  see, 
In  the  summer  of  my  life — 

Death  has  ta'en  my  love  from  me. 

O'er  the  by-gone  path  of  time, 

O'er  the  joy  and  o'er  the  care, 
O'er  the  tear  and  o'er  the  smile, 

Mem'ry  lingers  here  and  there. 
Her  eye  was  like  the  morning  bright 

When  the  mists  away  have  flown, 
Her  lips  were  like  the  budding  rose, 

And  her  heart  was  all  mine  own. 

O'er  her  dark  and  lonesome  grave 

Birds  may  sing  and  flowers  may  bloom 
Nature  may  with  joy  rejoice, 

But  my  heart  is  in  the  tomb. 
By  her  heart  forever  still, 

By  her  eyes  in  darkness  set, 
Till  I  draw  my  latest  breath, 

My  Mary  I  will  ne'er  forget ! 
9 


V 


BELLE  ISLE  ABOON  DETROIT. 


AIR — Logan   Braes. 


The  summer  sun  with  golden  beam 
Is  dancing  on  the  lake  and  stream  ; 
O  !  come  with  me,  my  lovely  maid., 
And  let  us  seek  the  sylvan  glade. 
Beneath  the  branches,  spreading  wide, 
We'll  watch  the  rippling  waters  glide; 
Come  !  let  us  see  the  wild  rose  smile — 
Upon  the  banks  of  sweet  Belle  Isle. 

With  mellow  note  the  bluebird  sings, 
How  lovely  there  the  violet  springs ! 
And  there  the  honeysuckles  twine, 
'Mang  scented  groves  of  eglantine. 
I'll  pull  the  lilacs  fresh  and  fair, 
And  twine  them  in  your  golden  hair; 
While  love  will  all  our  cares  beguile — 
Amang  the  groves  of  sweet  Belle  Jsle. 

We'll  wander  through  the  woodland  green, 
And  linger  by  each  fairy  scene  ; 
Though  nature's  face  be  fair  to  see — 
My  heart  will  fondly  dwell  on  thee  ! 
I'll  gaze  upon  thine  eyes  so  blue, 
Our  vows  of  love  we  will  renew — 
And  Truth  will  speak,  a.id  Hope  will  smile 
Amang  the  groves  of  sweet  Belle  Isle. 


M.Y  LOYE,  0  !   COME  TO   M.: 


AIR — Banks  a*  Doon. 

When  vict'ry  sheath'd  the  sword  of  strife, 

And  gentle  peace  once  more  did  reign, 
With  feeble  step,  and  weary  heart, 

A  soldier  sought  his  home  again. 
He  stood  beside  a  lonely  grave, 

And  o'er  his  cheek  the  tears  did  flow — 
His  throbbing  heart  was  like  to  break 

For  her  who  sleeps  in  death  below  ! 

In  life  her  heart  to  him  was  true, 

In  thought,  in  word — with  latest  breath, 
She  cried,  "my  love,  O  !  come  to  me," 

Then  sank  into  the  arms  of  death  ! 
On  battlefield,  in  danger's  hour, 

The  soldier  never  feared  the  foe, 
But  aow  his  heart  is  like  to  break — 

For  her  who  sleeps  in  death  below  ! 

He  kneel'd  upon  the  lonely  grave, 

He  kissed  the  cold  and  lifeless  clay, 
He  linger'd  long — then  left  the  spot, 

The  hand  of  anguish  led  the  way. 
Thus  onward  to  the  weary  end, 

The  bitter  tears  of  grief  will  flow, 
The  soldier's  heart  is  in  the  grave 

With  her  who  sleeps  in  death  below. 

I  \  "r         r~ 


140 


PETROIT   is   THE   JOWN    FOF^  M. 


AIR — Willie  ivas  a   Wanton   Wag. 


The  river  sweeps  by  Sarnia  bank, 

Then  glides  alang  sae  merrilye, 
The  lilies  smile  upon  Stag  Isle — 

And  violets  blush  sae  bonnilye. 
The  roses  smile  upon  Belle  Isle, 

The  birds  sing  sweet  upon  the  tree, 
Though  lasses  fair  dwell  in  St.  Clair, 

Detroit  is  the  town  for  me ! 

The  pine  trees  wave  on  Huron's  shore, 

The  clover  blooms  on  Moretown  lea, 
At  Algonac  men  fondly  talk, 

And  court  the  lasses  gallantlye. 
On  Fromville  brae  the  lammies  play, 

In  Walpole  woods  the  robins  flee, 
Though  lasses  fair  dwell  in  St.  Clair, 

Detroit  is  the  town  for  me  ! 

Detroit  river  saftly  glide, 

Ye  birds  sing  love  on  ilka  tree, 
Sing  to  my  love  in  bush  and  grove, 

Your  richest,  sweetest  melody. 
Sing  to  my  love  your  blythest  songs, 

And  fill  her  gentle  heart  wi'  glee, 
Though  lasses  fair  dwell  in  St.  Clair, 

Detroit  has  the  lass  for  me ! 


Y 


BEANIE    PELL, 


AIR  —  0'  a    the  airts  the  'wind  can  blaio. 


A  lassie  cam'  unto  our  toon 

Whan  flow'rs  were  blooming  fair; 
'Mang  a*  the  bonnie  blushing  flow'rs, 

Nane  wi'  her  could  compare. 
The  rose-bud  in  the  dewy  morn 

Smiles  sweetly  in  the  dell, 
But  sweeter  far  the  rosy  lips 

O'  bonnie  Jeanie  Bell. 

She  has  sae  monie  winsome  ways, 

Sae  modest,  kind  and  true, 
A  perfect  heaven  's  reflected  in 

Her  eyes  sae  bonnie  blue. 
The  birds  that  sing  in  green-wood  shaw 

In  sangs  their  love  may  tell, 
But  words  can  never  speak  the  love 

I  ha'e  for  Jeanie  Bell  ! 

May  a'  that's  guid  aye  guide  her  steps 

Alang  life's  thorny  way, 
May  ilka  year  in  a'  her  life, 

Be  a'e  lang  summer's  day. 
Oh  !  Jeanie  dinna  leave  our  toon, 

I  ne'er  can  say  "farewell," 
But  stay  and  be  a  joy  to  me, 
My  bonnie  Jeanie  Bell ! 


142 


JlNERAL    O'NEIL. 


AIR — "Johnnie   Cope. 


Neil  sint  a  letther  from  New  York, 

Savin',  "  Meself  will  show  yees  bloody  work, 

Kanucks  I'll  cut  yees  up  like  pork, 

Whin  I  meet  yees  in  the  marnin' !  " 
Och  !  Jineral  O'Neil  are  yees  spakin'  yet? 
Or  are  the  Kanucks  quakin'  yet? 
If  yees  be  spakin'  meself  will  wait, 

To  advance  on  Malone  in  the  marnin'. 

Whin  John  Bull  looked  the  letther  upon, 
Shure  he  began  to  rout  and  groan, 
"  Kanucks,"  he  cried,.  r'  Neil's  at  Malone., 
We'll  fight  him  in  the  marnin'." 
Och  !  Jineral  O'Neil,  etc. 

Now  Jineral  be  as  thrue  as  steel, 

It's  yoursilf-will  make  the  Kanucks  squeel, 

It's  yoursilf  will  give  thim  a  hot  pill 

Ave  shot  an'  shell  in  the  marnin'. 
Och  !  Jineral  O'Neil,  etc. 
\  / 


Y 


Whin  O'Neil  did  hear  that  Kanuck  John, 
Wud  be  afther  fighting  at  Malone, 
He  got  a  dray  to  jump  upon — 

To  vamose  away  in  the  marnin'. 
Och  !  Jineral  O'Neil,  etc. 

Faith  now  O'Neil  it  was  not  fair, 
To  draw  yer  sword  and  bloody  spear, 
An'  thin  to  run  just  like  a  deer — 

Away  from  the  Bull  in  the  marnin'. 
Och  !  Jineral  O'Neil,  etc. 

Whin  Jineral  O'Neil  to  the  station  came, 
He  swore  his  stomach  was  to  blame, 
"  Be  the  powers  the  wind's  got  in  my  wame, 
It  blows  right  cowld  this  marnin'. 
Och!  Jineral  O'Neil,  etc. 

Whin  in  the  jail,  the  brave  O'Neil 

Began  to  yell  just  like  a  diel, 

"  Bedad  !  "  he  cried,  "  a  snake  or  eel 

Is  down  me  throat  this  marnin'." 
Och  !  Jineral  O'Neil,  etc. 

"  Och  !  if  St.  Patrich  would  arise, 
This  sarpint  banish — blast  me  eyes, 
I'd  mince  the  Kanucks  up  in  pies 

An'  ate  thim  all  in  the  marnin'," 
Och  !  Jineral  O'Neil,  etc. 

Sure  now  O'Neil  it  was  not  fair, 
Upon  the  line  to  rip  and  tare, 
An'  thin  to  flee,  the  L — d  knows  where — 
An'  lave  yer  men  in  the  marnin'  ! 
Och  !  Jineral  O'Neil,  etc. 


H4 


JHE    pew   AYE    CHICAGO. 


AIR — Irish   ffasberivoman. 

Mrs.  Leary  O'Leary  lived  west  in  Chicago, 
One  night  she  did  make  both  her  tongue  an'  her 

jaw  go, 

"  Bedad  !  "  she  says,  t(  Pat  be  afF  wid  yees  now, 
An'  be  afther  the  milk  of  our  ilegant  cow  ! " 

Thin  Patsy  did  say,  "may  the  divel  reject  us, 
An'  the  howly  St.  Patrick  for  ever  protect  us;" 
He  thin  seized  the  pail  and  the  kerosene  lamp, 
An'  affto  the  barn  like  a  hero  did  tramp. 

The  barn-door  whin  he  reach'd,  he  gave   a  loud 

bawl, 

Then  Pat  danced  a  jig  wid  the  cow  in  the  stall, 
He  caught  the  cow's  tail  an'  he  made  her  leap 

round — 
Thin  the  kerosene  lamp  he  set  down  on  the 

ground. 

It  stood  purty  an'  bright  'mong  the  straw  and  the 

hay, 

Thin  Pat  took  the  pail  and  wint  milking  away; 
Sure  he  sang  an'  he  whistled,   an'  swore  at  his 

mother 
As  he  filled  up  the  pail  an'  emptied  the  udder. 


Thin  the  leg  ave  the  cow  was  seized  wid  the 

cramp, 
Sure  she  straighten'd  it  out  'gainst  the  kerosene 

lamp  ; 
Just  as  Patsy's  mamma  to  her  hammock  wint 

sighing — 
Sure  her  ilegant  cow  an'  her  Patsy  were  frying. 

Whin  the  fire  an'  the  flames  wint  raging  an' 

roaring, 

Bad  luck  !  Mrs.  Leary  wint  sleeping  and  snoreing, 
Whin  she  woke,  faith,  she  made  both  her  tongue 

and  her  jaw  go, 
Troth  !   she  swore  that  her  cow  ne'er  set  fire  to 

Chicago  ! 


ITTLE    NELLIE. 


LITTLE    N 


AIR — Roys'   Wife. 


Nellie  is  the  sweetest  lassie 

E'er  I  saw  atween  the  een, 
She  can  lilt  and  sing  sae  bonnie — 

O  !  she  is  a  cantie  queen  ! 
I  wadna  gi'e  my  bonnie  bairnie 

For  the  gear  that  ye  can  name, 
If  I  tint  my  toddlin'  dawtie, 

Mine  wad  be  a  dovvie  hame  ! 


146 

There  she's  runnin'  round  the  housie, 

Just  as  crouse  as  crouse  can  be, 
See,  she's  playin'  \vi'  the  pussie, 

Now  she's  dancing  on  my  knee. 
Hand  awa,  ye  little  hempie, 

Touts !  my  cantle's  unco  bare, 
Time  and  you  are  just  twa  randies, 

Pouin'  out  my  pickle  hair. 

Now  she's  ta'en  affshoe  and  stockin' 

Round  about  the  floor  to  creep, 
In  her  chair,  wi'  glee,  she's  rockin'; 

Losh  !  the  bairn  is  gaun  to  sleep. 
Come  to  me  my  bonnie  hinnie — 

Ye're  the  pink  o'  a'  the  toon, 
May  the  wale  o'  heaven's  blessings 

Aye  upon  my  pet  fa'  doon. 

Cut  the  strings — tak'  out  the  buttons; 

Losh  !  she's  sleepin'  like  a  tap  ; 
Hushy  bushy  bonnie  dawtie, 

Lift  her  cannie  aff  my  lap. 
In  her  cradle  saftly  lay  her, 

Hushy  bushy  baby  loo, 
Sweetly  sleep  my  wee  bit  totum — 

Angels  guard  my  wee  bit  doo  ! 


'47 


HER  LOVE  FOR  JAR  DID  ^ 

AIP  —  Coming  throngh  the  Rye. 


Oh  !  my  heart  is  wae  and  weary., 

Sad  as  sad  can  be, 
Anna  vovv'd  to  be  my  dearie, 

Anna's  slighted  me. 
Oft  we  sat  beside  the  fountain 

Where  the  lilies  spring, 
Oft  we  linger'd  by  the  mountain 

Where  the  linties  sing. 

Then,  the  daisy  smil'd  so  meekly — 

To  the  violet  blue, 
Then,  the  lark  did  sing  sae  sweetly, 

When  my  love  was  true. 
Oft  we  wand 'red  through  the  meadow 

In  the  starry  hours, 
Fondly  I  would  watch  her  shadow, 

Kiss  the  dewy  flowers. 

When  the  autumn  winds  were  sighing 

O'er  the  lonely  lea, 
When  the  drooping  flow'rs  were  dying 

Sorrow  came  to  me, 


148 

Hoping  she  was  constant  ever — 
Hope  gave  way  to  grief; 

Alas !  her  love,,  for  me  did  wither 
Like  the  autumn  leaf. 


J^OME!  ^WEETHEART,   COME! 


AIR — I  think  of  thee. 

Winter  is  gone  and  the  west  winds  are  blowing, 
Down  the  hill-side  the  clear  stream  is  flowing, 
On  bank  and  on  brae  primroses  are  springing, 
And  r;p  in  the  lift  the  lavrocks  are  singing, 
The  breeze  on  the  pool  is  rippling  and  sleeping, 
Up  on  the  pine-tree  the  ivies  are  creeping, 
Down  in  the  glen  grow  the  cowslip  and  gowan, 
And  high    on   the   bank    wave   the   ash-tree  and 
rowan. 


Come  !  sweetheart,  come  !  let  us  go  by  the  rushes, 
Down   where    the    birds   sing    amang    the    green 

bushes ! 
The    blackbird    will    warble   so    blythesome     and 

cheerie, 

linnet  a  love-song  will  sing  to  my  dearie. 


There's  a  spot  in  th'  dell  where  th'  limpid  stream 

gushes, 
Where  the  rose,  like  your  cheek,  is  blooming  with 

blushes, 

Where  the  silv'ry  willows  like  ringlets  are  flowing, 
And  the  sunbeams  are  dancing,   and   coming  and 

going. 

There,    while    the    ring-doves    are   cooing   above 

thee, 
I'll  tell   thee,  my  sweetheart !   how  dearly   I  love 

thee  ; 
There,    while    we    wander    'mang    gowans    and 

daisies, 

The  whispering  echo  will  hear  of  your  graces. 
Then  Truth  will   rejoice — our  vows  will  not  die, 

love. 
The   lark   on   the   gold-cloud  will  waft    them   on 

high,  love. 

Come !  sweetheart,  come  !  let  us  go  by  the  rushes, 
Down    where    the    birds    sing    amang    the    green 

bushes. 


F 


150 


AIR — Donald  Calrd, 

Mr.  Peter  Eraser's  comin', 

Blaw  the  pipes  and  set  them  bummin', 

Till  ilka  man  and  ilka  woman 

Ken  that  Peter  Eraser's  comin'; 
Tell  ilka  man  and  ilka  woman 
That  hurdle-louping  Peter's  comin'. 

Wi'  little  fyke  and  little  labor 
He's  the  lad  can  toss  the  caber — 
Toss  it  here  and  toss  it  there, 
Toss  it  to  the  deil  kens  where  : 
Tell  ilka  man  and  ilka  woman 
That  caber-tossing  Peter's  comin'. 

Donald  Dinnie  at  a  race 

Is  nothing  but  a  big  disgrace, 

The  very  spirits  in  the  air — 

Cry,   "  Donald  dinna  rin  nae  mair:  " 
Tell  ilka  man  and  ilka  woman 
That  running  Peter  Eraser's  comin'. 

Donald's  back  can  scarcely  bend — 
Hs's  like  a  sack  set  up  on  end, 
Or  like  a  broken  auld  bass  fiddle 
Wi'  a  string  tied  round  its  middle: 
Tell  ilka  man  and  ilka  woman 
That  bounding  Peter  Eraser's  comin' 


It's  a  sight  to  see  him  rinnin', 
He's  the  lad  can  wax  McLennan, 
Gives  a  spring  and  ciThe  flies  — 
Like  an  arrow  through  the  skies  : 
Tell  ilka  man  and  ilka  woman 
That  springing  Peter  Fraser's  comin'. 

Not  a  man  can  run  like  Peter,, 

At  a  loup  he  is  a  leaper, 

At  a  toss  he  is  a  tosser  :  — 

The  muse  has  fled  —  nae  man  can  boss  her, 

Notwithstanding  Fraser's  comin'  : 
Tell  ilka  man  and  ilka  woman 
That  louping  Peter  Fraser's  comin'. 


THE   COUNTING  o1  THE  WIDOW. 

AIR  —  Lumps  o'    Pudding. 

A  bouncing  gash  widow  lived  up  in  the  moors, 
Ae  night  she  sat  down  just  to  tak  her  four'oors, 
She  took  a  bit  bite  syne  a  sirple  o'  tea  — 
Whan  down  fell  the  saucer,  and  up  jumpit  she  ! 
f  '  Guid  guide  us,"  she  cried;  "losh,  Tarn,  is  that 

you  ? 

Or  is  it  yer  ghost?  hech  !   my  heart's  at  my  mou', 
What  a  gliff  ye  ha'e  gi'en  me!  Come,  Tarn,  man, 

sit  doon, 
Till    I    throw    aft"  my  spencer   and   draw    on   my 

goon." 


Quo'  Tarn,  "it's  e'en  me."     Soon  she  raxed  him 
a  chair  ; 

He  took  aff  his  bannet,  syne  clawed  at  his  hair, 

He  glower'd,  and  he  geck'd,  and  he  simper'd  ye 
ken, 

For  he  wanted  a  wife  like  the  Laird  o'  Cockpen. 

Quo'  the  widow,    "  Come,  Tam,  man,  just  draw 
in  yer  sate, 

Here's  a  cup  and  a  saucer,  a  knife  and  a  plate, 

There's    a    fadge  and   a   scone,    sae    pit  out   your 
hand  ; 

Poor  man  !  your  wife's  dead,  man,  as  I  under 
stand." 

Quo'  he,   "Aye,  she's  gane — she  is  dead  just  a'e 

year;" 
Now  the  widow  look'd  grand   'tween  a  smile  and 

a  tear  ! 
Quo'  she,    "  Tam,  I  wat,  Tarn,  we've  guid  cause 

to  compleen, 

For  I've  lost  my  Sandy  and  ye've  lost  yer  Jeen." 
Wi'  this  Tam  crap  near  her,  and  thus  he  did  say: 
"  I've  thought  about  you,  mem,  by  night  and  by 

day, 

An'  if  ye'Jl  consent,  mem,  to  buckle  wi'  me — 
Slip  twa  lumps  o'  sugar  in  my  cup  o'  tea  !  " 

The  widow  look'd  up  to  the  rafters  abune, 

Syne  she  glower'd  at  the  sugar  syne  play'd  wi'  the 

spoon, 

Then  down  o'er  her  cheek  a  big  tear  did  rin, 
As    her  e'e   fell   on  Tam,   hech  !    the    sugar 

in! 


Now  up  frae  his  chair  Tarn  jumpit  wi'  speed, 
An'  he  laid  his  big  hand  on  the  croon  o'  her 

head. 

The  widow  rose  up  an'  she  cried  in  her  glee — 
"  Ye'll  aye  hae  twa  lumps,  Tarn,  in  your  cup  o' 

tea  !  " 


M.ARY, 


AIR  —  There'll  never  be  peace  till  Jamie  comes  hame. 


'Twas  gloamin',  the  sun    had   gone  down  in  the 
west, 

And  the  murmuring  stream  hushed  the  woodlands 
to  rest, 

The  song  of  the  mavis  had  ceased  for  the  day, 

As  the  clouds  in  their  beauty  were  fading  away. 

The  pale  silv'ry  moon  was  ascending  on  high, 

And  the  star  of  the  evening  shone  bright  in  the 
sky; 

By  the  banks  of  the  stream,  'neath  the  wide- 
spreading  tree, 

My  own  dearest  Mary  came  smiling  to  me. 

With  rapture  I  clasped  my  true  love  in  my  arms, 
How  fondly  I  gazed  on  her  heavenly  charms  ! 
For  her  heart  was  as  pure  as  an  innocent  dream, 
And  as  light  as  the  moonbeam  that  danced  on  the 
stream. 

10  / 


How  sweet  was  the  hour  !     O,  how  nameless  the 

bliss  ! 

Flow  truthful  our  hearts,  and  how  holy  the  kiss, 
As  down  by  the  stream,  'neath  the  wide-spreading 

tree, 
My  own  dearest  Mary  vow'd  truly  to  me. 

Now  dark  is  the  hour,  how  forsaken  I  mourn, 
My  love  has  departed  —  ah  !   ne'er  to  return  ; 
Her  true  trusting  heart  lies  cold  in  the  grave, 
By  the  banks  of  the  stream  where  the  willow  trees 

wave. 

In  sorrow  I  weep,  yet  my  weeping  is  vain, 
No  more  to  my  bosom  my  darling  I'll  strain  ; 
No  more  by  the  stream  by  the  wide  spreading  tree 
Will  my  own  dearest  Mary  come  smiling  to  me. 


LAMMEFMOOF^. 

AIR  —  Mii'^s  Dream. 


Resiectfu'ly   Dedicated  to  Mrs.   Anderson,  Wyoming,  Ont. 

The  heather  blooms  upon  the  knowes, 

Primroses  spring  in  bielded  dells, 
The  gowans  smile  on  bank  and  brae, 

Amang  the  blue  and  bonnie  bells. 
Down  o'er  the  rocks  the  burnics  fa', 

They  toddle  on,  they  rin  sac  pure, 
Through  birken  bowers  and  yellow  brume 

That  fringe  the  glades  in  Lammermoor. 


The  lark  sings  in  the  lift  sae  blue, 

The  mavis  sings  upon  the  tree, 
While  lowly  on  the  milk-white  thorn, 

The  robin  chirps  wi'  gladsome  glee. 
I'll  never  see  Auld  Scotland  mair, 

Misfortune's  cloud  does  o'er  me  lour, 
Nae  mair  I'll  hear  the  linties'  sang 

Amang  the  hills  o'  Limmermoor. 

Yet  there  in  death's  cold,  cold  embrace, 

Lies  ane  I'll  ne'er  forget  to  lo'e, 
Through  weal  and  woe  her  gentle  heart 

To  me  was  constant,  kind,  and  true. 
Our  sindered  hearts  are  in  ae  grave, 

Yet  I  maun  still  my  griefs  endure, 
By  day  I  mourn,  by  night  my  dreams 

Are  in  her  grave  in  Lammermoor. 


HAS     JDROVED     -pALSE    TO 


AIR — Banks  o"   Doon 


'Twas  in^  the  time  whan  blythsome  spring 

Cam'  smilin'.  after  frost  and  sna.w,   ' 
When  birds  were  warblin'  safngs  o'  love'-; 

On  budding  bough  and  gqw'ny  sha,w, 
WheivLuey  sang  a'mournfu'  sang 

Beneath  yon  weeping  willow  tree, 
And  aye  the  burden  o'  her.  sang 

Was  "Willy  has  proved  false  to  me." 


156 


She  tore  her  hair  wi'  wild  despair, 

The  tears  rolled  doon  her  cheeks  sae  pale, 
'Twad  break  a  very  heart  o'  stane 

To  listen  to  her  weary  wail. 
<e  O  !  Lucy,  could  the  powers  abune 

Dispel  the  cloud  that  shadows  thee," 
But  aye  the  burden  o'  her  sang 

Was  "Willy  has  proved  false  to  me." 

There  is  a  grief  nae  tongue  can  name, 

There  is  a  tear  o'  deepest  woe, 
There  is  a  sigh — the  weary  sigh — 

That  slighted  love  alane  can  know  ! 
<{  O  !  Lucy,  lay  your  hand  in  mine, 

Yon  cloud  wi'  silv'ry  linin'  see  !  " 
But  aye  the  burden  o'  her  sang 

Was  "Willy  has  proved  false  to  me." 


THE  THYSTING  NIGHT 


AIR — Clean   Pease  Strae. 


The  nicht  is  unco  mirk  and  cauld, 

The  snaw  begins  to  fa'; 
I  mickle  fear  that  Willy,  dear, 

Will  ne'er  can  come  ava. 
He  said  he'd  come — he'll  strive  to  come, 

I'm  sure  he  lo'es  me  best, 
Hope  beckons  me  aye  to  the  door ; 

Love  winna  let  me  rest ! 


157 

For  O  !  I  lo'e  him  as  my  life — 

I'll  lo'e  him  til]  my  death  ; 
I'm  sae  uplifted  whan  he  comes 

I  scarce  can  draw  my  breath! 
O  !  come  to  me  my  Willy,  dear, 

Ne'er  mind  the  frost  and  snaw, 
Yet  far  or  near  my  heart  tells  me 

I  lo'e  ye  best  o'  a'. 

The  wind  roars  vvi'  an  eerie  wail, 

The  snaw  is  swirlin'  sair; 
A  cauldriff  dread  creeps  owre  ma  heart 

That  I'll  ne'er  see  him  mair  ! 
Ye  angry  winds,  O  !  cease  to  rave, 

Ye  trees  to  moan  and  sigh, 
Thou  moon  blink  in  the  lift  abune, 

Ye  blinding  drifts  flee  by  ! 

Sae  I  can  hear  him  whistle  clear, 

And  see  him  on  the  lea  ; 
That's  Willy,  now,  I  hear  his  step 

As  sure  as  sure  can  be. 
I  ken  it's  him — that's  just  his  rap — 

"  Come  Willy  lad,  come  in  ; 
O  whisht  !  I  doubt,  that  rousin'  kiss 

Will  waukin  a'  ma  kin!  " 


158 

J   J_0'E    MY   y\LICE    BEST   O'    A', 


AIR — Rosltn   Castle. 

Sweet  Nell  is  fair,  her  raven  hair 

Fa's  ovver  a  neck  as  white  as  snaw, 
Though  Nell's  divine,  she'll  ne'er  be  mine, 

I  lo'e  my  Alice  best  o'  a'. 
In  summer,  down  the  burnside, 

When  evening's  shades  began  to  fa', 
How  oft  I've  pressed  her  to  my  breast, 

And  vowed  I  lo'ed  her  best  o'  a'. 

O  !  Alice  thou  art  dear  to  me, 

My  Alice,  bonny,  blyth  and  braw  ; 
Though  Nellie  fain  my  heart  wad  gain 

I  lo'e  my  Alice  best  o'  a'. 
Her  heart  is  true  as  heaven  abune, 

My  Alice  has  nae  guile  ava  ; 
And  ilka  day  I  vow  and  say, 

I  lo'e  my  Alice  best  o'  a'. 

Though  wint'ry  winds  are  raving  wild 

And  loud  the  angry  tempests  blaw, 
I'll  o'er  the  hill  wi'  right  guid  will, 

And  on  my  bonny  Alice  ca'. 
How  soon  my  Alice  hears  my  step 

As  I  gang  round  the  garden  wa', 
And  when  we  meet,  'tis  joy  complete, 

For  O  !  I  lo'e  her  best  o'  a'. 


THE   ROSE   OF   ^PRINGWELLS, 

OKIGINAL  AIR — In  sheet  form  and  published  by  C.  J.  Whit 
ney  &  Co  ,   Detroit,  Mich. 


How  sweet  is  the  spring  when  the  soft  winds   are 

blowing, 
When  the  cold  blasts  of  winter  have  fled  from  the 

scene, 

When  our  white-bosomed  river  in  beauty  is  flowing 
And  nature  is  deck'd  with  her  mantle  of  green. 
How  grand  are  thy  banks,  O,  thou  clear  winding 

river, 

When  bespangled  with  lilies  and  bonny  blue  bells; 
How  oft   'mong  thy  groves  I  have  wander'd  with 

Jeannie, 

My  own  darling  Jeannie,  the  Rose  of  Springwells. 
There's  some  may  admire   the  sweet  smile  of 

their  Marys, 
And  some*  sing  the  praise  of  their  Nancy's 

and  Nells; 
But  fairest,  and   dearest,  far  blythest  and 

sweetest, 

Is  Jeannie,  my  darling  sweet  Rose  of  Spring- 
wells. 

Her  brow  is  as  fair  as  the  fairest  of  lilies, 
And  her  lips  are  as  red  as  the  rose  on  the  fells, 
Her  breath  is  as  sweet  as  the  zephyrs  of  heaven, 
So  pure  is  my  Jeannie,  the  Rose  of  Spring- 
wells. 


i6o 


The  sun  may  shine  bright  on  the  fairest  of  roses, 
The  birds  may  singlove  'mong  the  flow'rs  of  thedells 
But  gladness  would  never  re- visit  my  bosom, 
If  bereft  of  my  Jeannie,  the  Rose  of  Springwells. 
There's,  etc. 

Away  with  dull  care  !  let  us  banish  all  sorrow  ! 
May  hope  be  our  anchor  and  truth  be  our  chart, 
Though  fortune  may  frown,  joy  will  smile  on  the 

morrow, 

And  undying  love  ever  reign  in  the  heart. 
By  day  and  by  night  I  am  thinking  of  Jeannie, 
The  bright  dream  of  hope  ever  soothingly  tells 
That  her  heart  is  my  own,  and  she'll  aye  be  my 

darling, 

My  Jennie,  my  joy,  my  sweet  Rose  of  Springwells. 
There's,  etc. 


THE     M.AID    OF    WAYNE, 

The  following  song  fs  ived  to  a  beautiful  melody  by  M.  H.  Mc- 
Chcsney,  Esq.,  and  published  by  Whittcmore^  Swan  & 
Stephen^  Detroit,  Michigan. 

Down  in  yon  grove  of  maple  trees, 
Beside  yon  winding  glassy  rill, 

Where  fragrant  breezes  fan  the  air. 
From  scented  flower  and  daffbdill ; 

Beneath  the  shade  a  maiden  fail- 
Did  blythelv  sing  a  loving  strain, 

The  warbling  birds  did  cease  their  songs, 
To  list  the  lovely  Maid  of  Wayne. 


.6. 


Methought  I  was  in  fairy  land, 

With  rapture  how  my  heart  did  beat, 
Methought  I  heard  the  echoes  say  — 

No  lips  did  ever  sing  so  sweet. 
Adown  her  neck  the  ringlets  fell, 

And  kissed  a  bosom  free  from  stain, 
Her  dimpled  cheek  and  modest  smile 

Bespoke  the  lovely  Maid  of  Wayne. 

I  saw  her  leave  the  grassy  bank, 

And  lightly  trip  across  the  green, 
While  love  among  the  leafy  bowers 

Confessed  that  she  was  nature's  queen. 
I  saw  her  vanish  from  my  sight, 

My  heart  can  ne'er  find  peace  again, 
Enchanted  I  could  ever  gaze 

Upon  the  lovely  Maid  of  Wayne. 

O,  were  this  lovely  maiden  mine, 

How  sweetly  would  the  moments  glide  ; 
The  changing  year  would  bring  no  change  — 

She  aye  would  be  my  winsome  bride. 
How  I  would  strain  her  to  my  breast, 

But  ah  !  the  very  thought  is  vain, 
Her  ardent  lover  lonely  sighs, 

And  sings  the  lovely  Maid  of  Wayne. 


i6z 


LLEN 


Published  in  sheet  form  by  C.  J.  Whitney  &  Co.,  Detroit,  Mich. 


Ellen  is  my  apple  ripe,  Ellen  is  my  pear, 
Ellen  is  my  heart's  delight,  I  love  her  a'  the  year; 
Ellen  is  my  Bonnie  lass,  fairer  than  the  May — 
Ellen's  cheek  is  like  the  rose,  I  love  her  a'  the  day. 

When  the  dews  o'  gloamin'  fa'  on  the  budding 

flow'r— 

Ellen's  lips  are  sweeter  far,  I  love  her  every  hour. 
Ellen's  eyes  are  like  the  stars,  fu'  o'  heaven's  light, 
Ellen  is  my  ain  true  love,  I  love  her  day  and  night. 

Some  may  lo'e  the  golden  dross,  some  may  lo'e 

th  ewine, 
Some  may  tread  the  warrior's  path,  and  some  wi' 

tinsel  shine  ; 
Heaven  grant  me  Ellen's  love,  Ellen's  heart  and 

hand, 
Then  I'll  be,  though  e'er  sae  poor,  the  richest  in 

the  land. 

Other  lads  may  try  to  win  glances  frae  her  e'e — 
Other  lads  can  never  steal  my  Ellen's  love  frae 

me. 
When   the  spring  comes  round  again,  dancing  in 

her  pride, 
Ellen  will  be  a'  my  ain,  she'll  be  my  bonnie  bride. 


,63 


GLOSSARY, 


A',  all 

Ae,  one 

Aboon.  above 

Afore,  before 

Aft,  often 

Aften,  often 

Ahint,  behind 

Aiblins,  perhaps 

Aik,  oak 

Ain,  own  [nest  in  hiring 

Airl-penny,  a  coin  given  as  ear- 

Ajrt,  direction 

Ajee,  ajar 

A.lowe,  in  a  flame 

Amang,  among 

An,  if 

Ance,  once 

Anither,  another 

Ase,  ashes 

Atween.  between 

Audit,  eight 

Auld,  old 

Auld  faurent,  old  fashioned 

Ava.  at  all 

Awa',  away 

Awmry,  pantry 

Awms^  alms 

Ayont,  beyond 

Bairn,  a  child 

Bairns,  children 

Baith,  both 

Bauld,  bold 

Bauzand.'a  horse  or  cow  having 

a  white'spot  on  its  forehead 
Bein,  comlortable 
Beld.  bald 
Belyve,  by  and  by 
Ben— see.but  and  ben 
Besom,  hearth-brush 
Bicker,  drinking  vessel 
Bield,  shelter, refuge, protection 
Bi<:j.ing.,building 
Bike,  wild  bees' hive 
Bing'd,  curtseyed 
Birr",  spirit 
Birrled,  tossed 


Birrin',  to  throw.to  run  rapidly 

Birse,  bristles 

Blate,  bashful 

Blaw,  blow 

Bleare'etl,  dim  eyed 

Blear 't,  bedimmed 

Bleezing,  blazing 

Bleth'rin,  talking  idly 

Blink,  a  little  while,  a  smiling 

look,  to  look  kindly,  one  sight 
Blinking,  smirking 
Bluid,  blood  [beautiful 

Bonnie,  or  Bonny,  handsome, 
Bodin',  foretelling 
Bogles,  goblins 
Boortree,  the  elder  tree 
Bothy,  a  highland  cottage 
Brae,  side  of  a  hill 
Brat,  a  child 
Brattle,  to  run 
Braw,  tine,  handsome 
Brawlie,  perfectly,  quite  well 
Breeks,  breeches 
Bnchts,  sheep  pens 
Buckle,  marry 
Busk,  dress 

Busket-braw,  well  dressed 
But  and  ben,  outer  and  inner 

apartment 
Buffy,  chubby 
Burnie,  streamlet 
But,  without 
Brisket,  the  breast 

Ca',  to  call,  to  name,  to  drive 
Callan,  a  boy 
Caller,  fresh,  sound 
Cam,  come 

Cannie,  gentle,  mild,  dextrous 
Cantie,  or  Canty,  merry, cheer 
ful 

Cantle,  crown  of  the  head 
Cantrip,  incantation,  spell 
Carle,  an  old  man 
Carlie,  a  little  boy 
Carline,  a  stout  old  woman 
Carry,  the  sky 


/                                                                                                  \ 

/                                                        \ 

Castock,  the  stalk  of  a  cabbage    .    Dibbled,  planted 

Cauld.cold                                       ;    Dinar,  knock,  to  push 

Chanter,  part  of  a  bagpipe                 Dinna,  do  not 

Chield,  a  young  man 

Divot,  a  thin  sod 

Clachan,  village 
Claise,  or  Claes,  clothes 

Dochter,  daughter 
Doited,  stupid 

Claith,  cloth 

Donnert,  stupid 

Clank,  a  blow 

Dool,  sorrow,  grief 

Claver,  to  gossip 

Doon,  down                         [dent 

Cleed,  clothe 

Douce,  gentle,  sober  wise,  pru- 

Cleeks.  hangs 

Douff,  pithless 

Clite,  to  fall 

Doucely,  quietly 

Clotterin',  to  walk  awkardly 
Clout,  to  mend—  Clout,  a  blow 

Dour,  stubborn 
Dow.  or  Doo.  a  dove 

Clour,  a  mark  from  a  blow                Dowie,  worn  with  grief,  sleepv 
Cluds.  clouds                                       Downa,  expressive  of  inability 
Cockernonie,    dress  cap  worn    1    Dragglin',  to  walk  slowly 
by  females                                     i    Drammack.   mixture  ot    meal 

Coft,  bought 

and  water 

Cog.  a  wooden  dish              [dish 
Coggie,  a  small  sized  wooden 

Drap  ,  drop 
Dree,  suffer 

Coost,  did  cast 
Coup,  to  turn  over 
Couthie,  kind,  loving 

Dreepin',  dropping  or  wet 
Drumlie  muddy 
Droukit,  drenched 

Cowrin'.  cowering 

Drouth,  thirst 

Cowt,  colt 

Duds,  clothes 

Co/ie,  snug 

Dunted,  beat 

Crack,  to  converse 
Crackin',  conversing 
Cragie,  a  crag 
Crap,  crept 

E'e,  the  eye 
Een,  the  eyes 
E'onin',  evening 

Craws,  crows 

Eerie,  frightened,  troubled 

Creel,  a  fishwife's  basket 
Creepie,  a  low  stool 

Eild,  old  age 
Eldrich,  fearful 

Crony,  comrade 

En',  end 

Croodle,  to  coo  as  a  dove 

Enew,  enough 

Crouse,  proud 

Ettle,  to  aim 

Crummie,  cow 
Cuif,  a  blockhead 

Fa',  fall,  lot,  to  fall 

Cuist  cast 

Faes,  foes 

Cuits,  ankle  bones 
Dab,  to  peck  as  a  bird 

Fain,  happy,  fond 
Fain,  anxious 
Farin',  food 

Daddie,  a  father 

Fashions,  troublesome 

Dafttng,  funning,  making  sport 

Flight,  troubled 

Daft,  merrv,  giddy,  foolish 

Fauld,  a  fold,  to  fold 

Daidle.  loiter 

Fants,  faults 

Daised,  confused 
Darg,  day's  work 

Pearfu',  frightful 
Fecht,  to  flght 

Baud,  lump                                      1    Feck,  most  ^part 
Daunder,  walk  slowly                    1    Fee,  hire 
Daur,  dare                                       j    Fen.  to  make  shift 

Daurna,  dare  not 

Ferlies,  wonders 

Dawtie,  a  pet,  a  darling 
Deave,  deaf,  to  make  a  noise 

Fidging,  uneasy 
Fient,  ifiend 

Dee,  die 

Fitfa',  footfall 

Deeing,  dying 

Fistle,  bustle 

Delve,  dig 

Flafl'er,  flutter 

Dern,  conceal 

V 

Flee,  fly 

F             *  ^ 

Fleecli,  to  supplicate,  to  coax 
Forbye,  besides 
Forgje,  to  forgive 
Fou,  full,  tipsy 
Foumart,  a  fox 
Fonth,  lots 
Frae,  Ironi 
Fuflin'.  puffing 
Fu',  full 

Gript,  grasped 
Grue,  shudder 
Grup,  grip 
Glide,  good 
Quid  e'en,  good  evening 
Gukl-mornin',  good  morning 
Guidman    and   Guidwife,     the 
master  and  mistress  of    the 

Funk,  to  kick 
Fyke,  restlessness 

Guidfather    and    Guidmother, 
the  father-in-law  and  mother- 

in-law 

Gab,  the  mouth,  to  speak  boldly 

Gutcher,  grandsire 

or  pertly 

Gabbing,  speaking  and  chatting 
Gae,  to  go 

Ha',  hall 
Hae,  to  have 

Gaed,  went 

Haen,  had 

Gaen,  or  Gane,  gone          [road 
Gael,    or   Gate,  way,  manner, 
Gang,  to  go,  to  walk 
Gar,  to  make,  to  force 
Gai't  made 

Haill,  whole 
Hairst,  harvest 
Halesome,  wholesome 
Hallan,  cottage 
Hame,  home 

Gaucy,  jolly,  large 
Gaun,  going 

Haiti  ts,  sides  of  the  head 
Hantle,  great  deal 

Gawky,  foolish,  romping 
Gear,  riches,  goods  of  any  kind 
Gee,  pet 

Hap,  to  shield,  to  cover  up 
Harum  scarum,  hall-mad 
Haugh,  a  low  flat  piece  ol  land 
Haud,  hold 

Ghaist,&a  ghost 
Gie,  to  give 
Girning,  grinning 
Gied,  gave 

Hear't,  hear  it 
Haver,  to  talk  foolishly 
Hech!  oli,  strange 
Heich,  high 

Gien,  given 
Gilpey,  half-grown,  half-inform 
ed  boy  or  girl 
Gin,  it',  against 
Glaiket,  foolish,  mad       [charm 
Glamour,    the   influence    of  a 
Gled,  a  hawk 

Herrin',  herring 
Hinney,  honev 
Hirple,  to  walk  lame 
Hizzie,  romping  girl 
Hool,  husk 
Howket,  dug 
Howlet,  owl 

Gleg,  quick,  clear-sighted 

Hurklin,  cowering 

Glint,  ulance 

Ilk,  each 

Glisk,  glimpse 

Ilka,  every 

Gloamin',  twilight 
Glow'r,  to  stare,  to  look 
Glunch,  frown,  gloom 
Gomeril,  a  fool 
Goupins,  handfuls 
Goustie,  ghostly 
Gowan,  mountain  or  field  daisy 
Gowd,  gold 

Ingle,  fire-place 
Ingleside,  fireside 
I'se,  I  shall  or  will 
Ither,  other,  one  another 
Jag,  prick 
Jaupit,  bespattered 
Jaw,  raillery,  wave 

Gowk,  fool 

Jee,  change 

Grannie,  grandmother 
Grane,  groan 

Jink,  to  dodge,  to  turn  sudden 
ly  round  a  corner 

Grat,  wept 

Jo,  sweetheart 

Gree,  pre-eminence 
Grectin',  crying,  weepin°- 
Grien,  to  wish,  covet 
Grit,  great 

Jouk,  stoop  down 
Joyfu',  joyful 

Kail-yard,  cabbage  garden 
Kame,  comb 

1 66 


Kebbuck,  a  cheese 
Keek,  look,  a  peep,  to  peep 
Keeking-glass,  looking-glass 
Kelpies,    evil  spirits  haunting 

streams 

Kempin',  striving 
Ken,  to  know 
Kend,  or  Kent,  knew 
Kenna,  know  not 
Kens,  knows 

Keps,  catches  [garb 

Kilt,  a  portion  of  the  highland 
Kimmer,  a  gossip 
Kin,  kindred,  relations         [per 
Kirn,  a  churn,  the  harvest  sup- 
Kirsen.  christen  or  baptize 
Kist,  chest 

Kittle,  to  tickle,  ticklish 
Knowe,  a  small  round  hillock 
Kye,  cows 
Kyte,  the  belly 

Laddie,  a  boy,  diminutive  of  lad 

Laigh,  low 

Laith,  unwilling  [alone 

Lane,    lone— My    lane,  myself, 

Lanely,  lonely 

Lang,  long,  to  think  long,  to 
long,  to  weary 

Lamping,  to  take  long  steps 

Lap,  leap 

Lauch,  laugh 

Lave,  the  rest,  the  remainder, 
the  others 

Laverock, the  lark 

Law,  low 

Leal,  true 

Lee,  an  untruth 

Lee  lang,  live  long 

Lee/e  me,  a  phrase  of  congrat 
ulation,  I  am  happy  in  thee, 
or  proud  of  thec 

Leugli,  laiurh 

Leuk,  a  look,  to  look 

Lie-lit,  light 

Lift,  sky 

Lightlie,  despise 

Lilt,  a  ballad,  a  tune,  to  sing 

Lilting,  singing 

Limmer,  an  abandoned  female 

Linn,  a  waterfall,  or  the  pool 
at  the  bottom  of  it 

Lintie,  linnet 

Loaning  a  broad  lane 

Lo'e,  love 

Lo'ed,  loved 

Loof,  the  palm  of  your  hand 

Loon,  a  wild  young  lad 


Loot,  did  let 
Loup,  leap 
Lugs,  ears 
Lyart,  old,  thin 
Lowe,  flame 

Mae.  more 

Mak',  make 

Majlin.farm 

Mair,  more 

Maist,  most 

Maistly,  mostly 

Maukin,  a  hare 

Maun,  must 

Mamma,  must  not 

Mark,  a  Scottish  coin 

Marrow,  equal,  like 

Mauled,  to  strike  repeatedly 

Mavis,  the  thrush 

Mense,  manners 

Mess  John,  the  minister 

Micht,  might 

Minnie,  mother 

Mirk,  dark 

Misehanter.  misfortune 

Mither,  mother 

Monnie,  or  mony,  many 

Mou',  mouth 
1    Moudiwart,  a  mole 

Muckle,  or  Mickle,  great,  big, 
much 

Mutch,  cap  worn  by  females 
j    Mysel',  myself 

I    Na,  PO,  not 

!    Nae,  no,  not  any 

1    Naething,  or  Na'ithing,  nothing 

Naig.  a  nag  or  horse 

Naigies,  horses 

Nane,  none 

Neivefu',  handful 

Neist,  next 

Nicht,  night 

Nicker,  to  neigh 

Nifl-natf,  fastidious 

Nippin,  piercing,  pinching 

Nippit,  pinched 

Nocket,  lunch 

Nook,  corner 

Noucht,  nought 

Nout-horn.  cow-horn 

Nowte,  cattle 

()',  of 

O'ercome,  burden,  as  of  a  song 

Onie,  any 

O't,  of  it 

Oursels,  ourselves 

Owre,  often,  too 


z                                                               \ 

K           •       .67                ^ 

Owsen,  oxen 

Sic,  such 

Oxtering,  to  link  arms 

Siccan,  such 

Sicker,  keen 

Paiks,  knocks 

Siller,  silver  money 

Pairtin'Jparting 

Simmer,  summer 

Pawkie,  sly,  humorous 

Sin',  since 

Pawky,  sly  or  cunning 
Pechin',  breathing  hard 
Perlins,  jewels 
Philabeg,  the  kilt 

Skaith,    to  damage,  to  Injure, 
injury 
Skeigh,  proud,  nice,  high  met 
tled 

Pibroch,  pipe,  tune 
Pickle,  a  small  quantity 
Pingle,  to  mop 
Plack.  an  old  Scottish  coin 
Pliskie,  to  trick 

Skellv,  to  squint 
Skelp.  to  strike,  to  walk  with  a 
smart  tripping  step 
Skirling,  shrieking,  crying 
Skreigh,  a  scream,  to  scream 

Pouther'd,  powdered 

Slaw,  slow,  dull 

Pow,  head 

Slee,  sly 

Pree,  to  taste 

Sleekit^  sleek,  sly 

Pree'd.  tasted 

Slogan,  cry,  war  cry 

Pu'd,  pulled 

Sma',  small 

Puirtith,  poverty 

Smack,  kiss 

Puir,  poor 

Smoored,  smothered 

Quo,  said 

Snaw,  snow,  to  snow 
Snawy-drift,  snow-drift 

Rackle-handed,  strong-handed 
Raid,  inroad,  foray 
Hang,  reigned 
Rax,  fetch,  reach 
Kede,  warn 

Sneeshin',  snuff 
Sonsy,  stout,  good  looking 
Sough,  the  sigliing  of  the  wind 
Spak',  spake 
Speel'd.  clamb 

Keek,  smoke 

Speir,  ask 

Rifted,  torn 

Speired,  inquired 

Rin.  run 

Spence,  parlor 

Ristle,  to  strike 
Rout,  the  blowing  of  a  horn 
Routli,  plenty 

Splarge,  splutter 
Sprachlin',  scrambling 
Spunl  e,  a  stick  with  which  por 

Rowpit,  hoarse 

ridge  is  stirred  when  boiling 

Rubbit,  rubbed 

Stane,  stone 

Rung,  a  walking  stick 

Staney,  stoney 
Stappit,  stepped 

Sae,  so 

Starn,  or  Sternie,  a  star 

Saft,  soft 

Steek,  slmt 

Sair,  sore 

Stended,  strided  or  walked 

Salrly,  sorely 

Stots,  oxen 

Sang,  song 

Stoun,  pang 

Sark,  shirt 
Sassenacli,  Saxon  or  lowlander 

Stoops,  measures  for    holding 
liquids 

Scraugliin',  screaming                   j    Stour,  dust 

Bcrlvein',  to  go  swittly                 1    Stown,  stolen 

Scunner,  disgust                                   Sumpli,  fool 
Sel',  self                                               Suukets,  left  meat 

Shank,  to  depart  or  set  off,  a       Swarf,  fright 
thin  scranky  leg,  a  handle          :    Swarf,  swoon      T 
Shauchled,  ill  or  loosely  shaped       SwatteiVsplutter.  flounc 
Shaw,  a  wood  in  a  hollow  place        Sweirt,  not  c.iring 
Shearing,  reaping                           ;    Syne,  then, 

Sheiling,  cot,  a  cottage 

Shill,  shrill                                             Taen.  taken 

Shorking,  wet  feet 

\ 

Tak',  to  take 

/ 

\                                                                                                      / 

i68 


Takin',  taking 
Tak'  tent,  take  heed 
Tane,  tother,  the  one,  the  other 
Tapsalteerie,  upside  down 
Tent,  caution,  to  take  heed 
Thae,  these 
Thegither,  tosether 
Thowless,  cold,  broken-hearted 
Thraws,  turns 
Tine,  to  lose 
Tinges,  tongs 
Tint,  lost 
Tither,  the  other 
Titterin',  giggling 
Tittie,  sister 
Tittlen,  to  whisper 
Toclier,  marriage  portion 
Toddlln,  tottering 
Toom,  empty 
Totting,  a  child's  run 
Trig,  snruce,  neat 
Trow,  believe,  know 
Tryst,  a  meeting    by  appoint 
ment 
Twa,  two 
Tyke,  dog 
Tyne,  lose 

Unco,  strange 
Uncouth,  uncomely 

Wa',  wall 

Wad,  would 

"VVaddin',  wedding 

Wadna,  would  not 

Wae,  sorrowful 

Waefu',  wailing,  woeful 

Waes.  woes 

Wair,  to  lay  out,  to  expend 

Wallop,  to  leap,  strike 

Walth,  plenty 

Wark,  work 

WTarlock,  wizard 

Warst,  worst 

Warstle,  wrestle 

Wat-ye,  know  ye 

Waukin',  waking 

Waukrife,  sleepless 

Waur,  worse 

Wean,  child 

Weary,  or  Wearie,  tired 

Wede,  weeded 

Wee,  little 


Weel,  well 

Weelfare,  welfare 

Weel  waled,  well  chosen 

Ween,  a  vow— I  ween,  I  wot 

Weet,  rain,  wetness  dew 

Weir,  war 

We'se,  we  shall 

Wlia,  who 

Wha'll,  who  will 

Wha  wadna,  who  would  not 

Whack,  to  fall,  to  strike 

Whang,  to  cut 

Whare,  where- 

Whiff,  to  fly  off 

Whilk,  which 

Whingin',  to  whine 

Whisht,  silence 

Whisket,  brushed  past 

Whuds,  rv.ns  nimbly 

Whummlin',  to  turn  over 

Whup,  whip 

Wi\  with 

Willows,  baskets 

Winna,  will  not 

Winsome,  hearty,  gay 

Wizeml,  wrinkled,  withered, 
dried  up 

Woo',  wool 

Woo,  to  court,  to  make  love 

Wraith,  an  apparition  exactly 
like  a  living  person,  the  ap 
pearance  of  which  is  said  to 
forebode  the  person's  death 

Wrang,  wrong,  to  wrong 

Wud.  mad,  distracted 

Wull-cat,  wild  cat 

Wylie,  cautious 

Wyte,  blame 

Yade,  pony 

Yaff,  chat,*bark  like  a  dog 

Yammer,  to  grumble 

Yatter,  senseless  talk 

Ye'll,  you  will 

Yerk,  to  strike 

Ye'se,  you  shall 

Yestreen,  last  night 

Yett,  gate 

Ye've,  ye  have 

Yird,  ear'h 

Yoursel',  yourself 

Youthfn',  youthful 

Yule,  Christmas 


JW.  E.  TUNIS,! 

86  Woodward  Ave,,      DETROIT, 

pommereial  and  Ornamental 


PRINTER 


^Binder  &>  Stationer. 


The  Only  Establishment  in  Detroit  combining 

PRINTING,  BINDING  & 


ALL  UNDER  ONE  ROOF 


AND     MANAGEMENT. 


BUSINESS   OFFICE,  SECOND  FLOOR. 


All   Work  and   Prices  Guaranteed. 


BRYANT  &  STRATTON 

Business  University, 

(Located  next  to  the  Post  Office.) 

BUSINESS  PRACTICALLY  TAUGHT, 

After  the  Counting  House  system,  the  only  true  and  practical 
system  for  illustrating  real  business  requiring  Banks,  Stores, 
Business  Houses,  Offices,  Board  of  Trade,  etc.  A  foreign 
business  is  also  carried  on  by  the  Teachers  and  students 
through  the  United  States  mail  with  other  Colleges  belonging 
to  the  International  Business  College  Association,  the  only 
organization  of  the  kind  known,  this  being  a  branch  of  the 
same. 

This  is  the  oldest,  largest  and  most  popular  institution  of 
the  kind  in  the  Northwest.  A  visit  to  this  institution  w'll 
satisfy  any  person  where  to  purchase  a  scholarship.  The  best 
business  houses  in  Detroit  have  in  their  employ,  as  head  book 
keepers,  students  from  this  institution.  It  has  been  necessary 
for  the  past  two  years  to  enlarge  the  apartments  to  accom 
modate  the  large  and  increasing  patronage,  all  of  which 
indicates  popularity  and  prosperity. 

For  particulars,  please,  call  or  address 

J.  H.  GOLDSMITH, 

DETROIT,  MICH 


y 


NURSERYMEN, 

SEED  MERCHANTS 


AND 


DETROIT,        -         MICHIGAN, 


ARE   ALWAYS   PREPARED   TO   FURNISH 

RELIABLE    SEEDS 

AT  MODERATE  PRICES. 


s'Es,   PLANTS,  FIOWERS,  &c.,  &c. 

(WM.   ADAIR,  C.   CAMERON,  C.   W.   ROBINSON.) 


s 

BANKER,     ' 

DETROIT,  MICHIGAN. 


Gold,  Silver  and  Canada  Bills 

Government  and  Local  Securities^ 


BOUGHT  AND  SOLD. 


Sight  Drafts  on  all  the  Principal  Cities 
of  Europe. 


COLLECTIONS  MADE, 

DEPOSITS  RECEIVED, 

AND  A   GENERAL  BANKING  BUSINESS  TRANSACTED. 


C.   B.   HEBBARD, 

Insurance  and  Real  Estate  Agent 

BUHL  BLOCK, 

No.  TOO  GR1SWOLD  STREET, 

Opposite  the  Post  Office,  DETROIT,      MICH. 


INSURANCE  Co.  OF  NORTH  AMERICA, 

PHILADELPHIA, 

$3,000.000. 

ANDES   INSURANCE   Co.,   CINCINNATI, 

$1,200,000. 

COMMERCE  INSURANCE  Co.,  ALBANY, 

$500,000. 

PENNSYLVANIA   INSURANCE  COMPANY, 
PHILADELPHIA, 

$1,500,000. 

WESTCHESTER  FIRE   INSURANCE  Co., 

NEW    ROCHELLE,   N.   Y. 
$5OO,OOO. 

UNION  MUTUAL  LIFE   INSURANCE  Co., 

BOSTON. 

$6,000,000. 


DAVID  McCORMICK, 


DEALE'i    IN 


Crockery  and  Glassware 

PLATED  GOODS, 

CUTLERY  AND  LAMPS, 

No     10   MICHIGAN   AVENUE, 
Opposite  the  New  City  Hall,        DETROIT^    Mich. 


"John   Anderson,   my   jo,  John, 

It's  fifty  years  by-gane 
Since  ye  did  clasp  me  to  your  breast 

And  ca'   me  a'  yei   ain. 
There's  ne'er  an  angry  word,  John, 

Cam'  ever  out  yer  mou, 
Ye  aye  ha'e  been  to  me,  John, 

A  husband  kind  and  true. 

'•But  John,   I'm  laith  to  say,  John, 

Our  cat  sprang  at  a  mouse, 
She's  broken  ilka  dish,  John, 

That  we  ha'e  in  the  house. 
My  head  is  like  to  rend,  John, 

My  heart  is  filled  wi'  woe. 
That  cat  will  be  the  death  o'  me, 

John   Anderson,   my  jo." 

"Tib  Anderson,  my  wife,  Tib, 

O  !    dinna  sigh  sac  sair, 
But  get  a  kame  and  ca'  it  through 

Your  bonnie  raven  hair: 
And  syne  put  on  your  bo  met,  Tib, 

That  hangs  ahint  the  door; 
And  plate  and  dish  I'll  buy  to  you 

At  D.  McCormick's  store." 


A.    WANLESS, 

BOOK   BINDER 

PAPER    RULER, 

AND 

BLANK   BOOK   MANUFACTURER, 

T33  3ejjtrson  4l'e->  Masonic  Block, 

DETROIT,  MICHIGAN. 


Orders  taken  for  all   kinds  of  Printing,   Cards, 
Bill   Heads,   Etc. 


NIELSON'STEA 

IS  THE  TEA  FOR  ME. 


AIR— Laird  o"    Cockfen. 


There's  ane  may  lo'e  whisky  and  twa'  may  like  beer, 

While  some  prefer  gin  'bout  the  end  o'  the  year; 

And  others  may  relish  a  snuff  or  a  smoke, 

A  sang  or  a  sermon,  a  crack  or  a  joke. 

I  carena  for  smokin1 — tobacco  is  dear — 

I  carena  for  snuff  ony  day  in  the  year; 

But  slip  down  to  Nielsen's  and  bring  up  to  me 

A  pound  o'  his   Hyson — his  grand  Dollar  Tea! 

His  teas  are  refreshin' — they  strengthen  the  mind, 

And  mak'  us  feel  couthie  and    canty  and  kind. 

Now,  folk,  gang  to  Nielsen's,  and  spend  your  bawbee, 

And  take  hame  a  pound  o'  his  fine   Hyson  tea! 

This  warld's  a  warld  o'  trouble  and  care, 

And  at  times  folk  e'en  hang  on  the  brink  o'  despair. 

Now,  dinna  be  rash  ;  O,  just  hooly  a  wee, 

There's  a  cure  and  a  comfort  in  Nielsen's  guid  tea. 

Hurrah  for  James  Nielsonl     He's  kind  to  the  folk. 

His  store's   No.  6,  in  the  Russell  House  Block. 

He's  honest  as  day — he's  a  rale  decent  man, 

For  Truth  guides  his  tongue  and  Justice  his  han1. 

His  Coffees  and  i-pices  by   far  are  the  best; 

His  Teas  are  the  finest  e'er  came  to  the  west. 

The  wives  a'  exclaim  in  the    midst  o'  their  glee, 

u  We'll  a'  ha'e  a  cup  o'   James  Nielsen's  guid  Tea!" 

Every  purchaser  of  a  pound  of  Tea  will  receive  a  ticket. 
When  ten  tickets  are  obtained,  a  pound  of  Tea  will  be  pre 
sented  gratis. 

Duplicate  of  Ticket  given  to  Purchaser. 

Ten  Tickets  good  for 

One  Pound  Dollar  Tea. 

J.    NIEJLSON. 


SCOTCH  TEA  STORE,  No.  6  Russell  House  Block. 


